


The sand in their eyes

by VayceThreyvaCeciliaHoldshire1726



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Crime Scenes, Fleeing from Moriarty, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Okay yeeees it gets sexual, Pain, Warning: We use swear words!, Yeeeees it might get sexual, love development
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 60,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7263400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VayceThreyvaCeciliaHoldshire1726/pseuds/VayceThreyvaCeciliaHoldshire1726
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are out for a case, chasing after a murderer, as they are too blind to see that they are meant to be together. Their relationship evolves, but of course there is an arch enemy that's planning to burn a certain consulting detective's heart out of him. It's a two view story - Tiffany Sandercock wrote John and I wrote Sherlock. From Chapter 13 on Amelia Watson wrote John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposition

Buzz buzz buzz... BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ! Tired eyes slowly peeled open and a groan escaped dry lips. The male turned slowly in his half asleep state, blindly reaching out and slamming his hand down onto his alarm in an attempt to stop it "Fucking hell.." he grumbled, head throbbing as he forced himself to sit up his heavy body. John rested his head in his hand for a moment, the war broken doctor had only had a few hours sleep the night before, his dreams had been riddled with Nightmares and flashbacks. Never the less, John knew he had better get up soon or Sherlock would just end up complaining to him as per usual. John slowly slipped out of the bed, wearing just his PJ shirt and boxers. He allowed his feet to be tucked into his slippers before standing up to make his way from his bedroom.  
John rubbed at his tired eyes, trying to wake himself up as he shuffled from his bedroom and towards the kitchen. A massive yawn slipped through his lips and he glanced over to Sherlock who was scanning through his laptop. John sighed and shook his head "Tea?" He called, voice laced with tiredness. "Have you been up all night on that bloody laptop?" He muttered, almost spilling hot water on his hand as he poured the pair two cups of tea, a long string of swear words escaping him before he chuckled to himself. John made his way with both cups of tea, placing Sherlock down next to him on the coaster before glancing at the laptop screen, a small smile curling onto his lips "New case?"

Sherlock's eyes were moving over the screen as he realized that somebody was talking to him; presumably it was John. Too soon! He hadn't finished his researches yet, didn't figure out where they had to go to find out more about the murderer yet... but he couldn't have told him that.  
„Yes“, he replied with his brain being on autopilot. The most necessary things could be done like this, conversations that needed only 1% of his attention could be performed while he would still focus on what was really important. There surely was the danger that he could give answers that the one he talked to wouldn't acclaim to, but mostly he could avoid that and so the other person would think they had his attention.  
The case. It was all new, happened during the night and his alert had woken him up. A corpse had been found in the River Thames, female, but she didn't drown as there wasn't any water in her lungs. Both her thumbs were cut off, just like her hair. But the most exciting thing was the sand. She was carrying a bag with all kinds of sand filled up in jars. Some of them were emptied, some of them contained only half of what used to be in them. This bag had lain on the ground of the river with her for at least a week. Still other murders had been commited, and at each crime scene some sand from foreign lands had been found. And although it seemed impossible, Sherlock was sure that there was a connection between the dead woman from the Thames and these other murders.

Johns smile dropped from his face when he listened to that usual monotone response. The male let out a groan and tilted his head up, staring up at the ceiling briefly "God give me strength" he scoffed before shaking his head, Sipping his tea before sitting down in his usual chair. The doctor watched the sociopath carefully, Allowing his thumb to run along his bottom lip as he studied the curls. A chuckle escaped his lips as he allowed himself to become lost in Sherlocks image for a few moments before blinking when he realised he was staring at him. John coughed nervously into his hand and he shifted in his seat, looking down at the paper carefully but he found that he wasnt able to pay attention to the blur of words and pictures in front of him. John closed the paper in obvious anger, slowly tapping his fingers on his knee as he waited for the detective to show any sign of him actually registering his presence. "Sherlock, I made you tea." He said firmly, glancing to the cup of tea he had placed next to the detective which was still untouched. The male slowly stood back up, scratching at his stomach which caused his shirt to rise slightly "I suppose you want me to get dressed then? Since we are heading out?" He presumed, hoping that for once, Sherlock would not rush out on his own. 

“Yes, I assume you don't want to roam the streets like this”, his lips formed words he himself barely heard. They'd have to look at the corpse. Scotland Yard was always missing out on the important things, just like everybody was.  
Sherlock had done his research, he had learned about the water circulation of rivers, he had known ash for a long time already and added some sand to it now, everything was stored in boxes he could throw away once he had solved the case. He had spent this night the most useful way and although he had barely slept he felt energetic and couldn't wait to get up and investigate.

John blinked as the male listened to him, able to feel his cheeks turning a burning red and he groaned, allowing his eyes to roll "Obviously im going to get changed! Wait... when on earth did you actually pay attention to what im wearing... scratch that, Dont answer" he said, cheeks still an embarrassed red as he turned away from him. John breathed in slowly, allowing his eyes to close as he calmed down his racing heart, able to feel it pulsing in his ears "Is there anything you need me to do before I go to get dressed?" He asked, finally allowing his head to turn so he could look over his shoulder at Sherlock "And drink your tea, it will be getting cold" he said firmly. 

“What would I need?”, Sherlock asked, turned around and grabbed the tea. He looked at John now, their eyes met each other. His flatmate looked a shade too annoyed and Sherlock narrowed his eyes to slits to figure out why. Probably he didn't like getting up this early... Sherlock sipped on his tea which actually was of great taste. It was different from that which he usually found in the morning, maybe it was because John made it. Sherlock deeply admired the small miracles John could perform. He was ordinary, but not like those ignorant people like Anderson. He could handle life in a way Sherlock would never be able to and that's why the detective was very well aware of how lost he would be without him.

John studied Sherlocks eyes for a moment, a warmth washing through his body before he quickly glancing away "Nothing, Just forget about it" he said before reaching down, Adjusting his boxers slightly which were a size too tight. He ran his fingers through his hair and he hummed "I will be back in a few moments, Make sure you are ready by the time I come out... and dont leave without me this time" he said, his voice slightly sharp with annoyance as he had been left on numerous occasions "I will be back in a few minutes" he said once more before making his way off towards his bedroom to get dressed into the best(worst in Sherlocks opinion) jumper he had, checked shirt and jeans. 

Sherlock jumped up the second John had left the room, barely able to contain his excitement. He rushed to the coat rack, grabbed his coat and scarf, put it on. To the kitchen, where he grabbed a few things and stuffed them in his pockets. His view fell on a tray which he took to check his looks. He ran his hand through his hair to rearrange it. Not that he was interested in anybody's opinion on his looks, but they were one of the many ways to manipulate a person. Maybe he'd need to do that. Also John... steps on the floor. He was returning already! Sherlock dropped the tray immediately and ran back to the front door. He arrived just in time and the second John entered the room he turned up his coat collar and watched the reaction from the corner of his eyes.

John heard the crash of the tray hitting the kitchen counter, the male rolling his eyes as he stepped through the kitchen, now fully dressed. The male ran his fingers through his hair slowly, causing it to become slightly messy, a stray piece sticking up like a sore thumb. John made his way towards the front door, grabbing his own coat off the rack before glancing up at Sherlock, thinking that he couldnt see him. The males cheeks turned red once more and his mouth opened ever so slightly as he took in what he saw before putting a mask on, turning away from Sherlock as he spoke "God look at you.. with your.. turned up collar and... cheekbones" he scoffed, quickly pushing past him, unable to make eye contact with the detective before he reached for the door, turning the handle yet not opening it. The male looked up at Sherlock, allowing them to meet eyes once. John breathed in sharply, studying the man In front of him quickly before giving him a sheepish smile "Lets get going?" He suggested, clearly quite nervous at their close proximity.

“Evidently!”, Sherlock returned the smile of his friend. He couldn't wait to get going, couldn't wait to feed his brain, couldn't wait to make an impression. Although he was aware he had already made one. It was quite interesting that John was susceptible to what he was doing. And for what reason ever it felt good to see this reaction on him.  
He opened the door, ran down the stairs, screamed through the hallway: “The game is on!”, turned around and let a laughter escape his lungs. It was a sentence that connected the two of them, a sentence that represented the adventures they had been on together and it was a promise that there were more to come. 

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock ran down the stairs like a child, the male shaking his head before a grin grew on his lips and the doctor began to make his way after Sherlock, trying to banish the warm feeling from his heart, knowing that he could not get romantically attached to.. Sherlock.. for christ sake, John was straight anyway!!... but even John was beginning to doubt that. A wave of sadness began to wash over the Doctor as he made his way outside, making his way over towards where Sherlock was waiting in a cab. John studied the males profile as he made his way over to the opposite side of the cab, having to remind himself that Sherlock was married to his work and would never feel anything towards the doctor in that way. John sighed, shaking his head quickly before slipping into the taxi which had been impatiently waiting for him to enter. John leant back into the leather seat and instantly looked away from Sherlock, knowing he was going to have to start to distance himself to prevent any further attachment. 

“To St. Bartholomew's Hospital“, Sherlock told the driver and gave him the address. He could barely sit still and looked outside the windows. Finally he had something to do. Finally something to keep him distracted from... whatever. His fingers thrummed on his legs as he tried to sit still.  
John looked outside his window so Sherlock decided to do the same. But he caught himself looking at the man next to him over and over. Why wouldn't he ask him about the case? It was like a fire inside him, burning, he wanted to tell John about the case. But unless he asked Sherlock couldn't tell him. That would be weird, this much he had learned. 

John slowly closed his eyes as he listened to the male speak to the taxi driver.. ah, morgue. John rubbed his eyes tiredly before slowly looking over to Sherlock, finding that the detective was watching him. John gave him a sheepish smile, studying the mans eyes briefly before noticing that the man was practically bouncing in his seat, and it was then that he realised that he had no idea what there were doing in the case. John smiled "Well... since you seem so eager, care to tell me what this case is about?" He asked, slowly resting his hands down onto the chair, brushing against Sherlocks gloved hand briefly before he quickly retracted his hand, cheeks a light pink 

“A dead woman found in the Thames”, Sherlock started right of, the words shooting from his mouth like canonballs, “She was definitely murdered, there was no water in her lungs, somebody cut her thumbs and hair off, but nothing of that is of importance.”  
Sherlock took a break here to increase John's excitement. He had talked really fast before, too fast maybe. He had wanted to escape to the case and it worked. It always worked.  
“I have been having an eye on several murders that have been committed over the last months. There are no connections between them except one: The delinquent always left a small pile of sand.” 

John frowned slightly and nodded along as Sherlock began to explain what had happened. He slowly ran his thumb along his bottom lip, carefully thinking over what Sherlock had said but truthfully, he had no idea what he he could contribute to the case that Sherlock didnt already know or had figured out. The male let out a slow sigh, hating that he knew that Sherlock viewed John as an Idiot. The male closed his eyes briefly before yawning "Em..." he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes tiredly "Thumbs?" He chuckled quietly before turning to look at Sherlock, pupils dilating and there was a happy look in his eyes which only seemed to appear when John was looking at Sherlock "Well, im sure with that clever mind of yours, you will have the case solved today" he chuckled, allowing his eyes to run along his cheekbones and turned up collar for a moment before chuckling, shaking his head "You can be such an idiot Sherlock" 

Solve the case today, John surely was overestimating Sherlock's abilities! Although he might be able to do it with the right motivation. He got stuck looking at John's smile while he answered it with his own. “Only around you”, he replied absentmindedly and wanted to continue the happy atmosphere and laughter, when suddenly John stopped. Why? Why did he do that? What did just happen? Sherlock's mind started to race against time. What did just happen? Where was the mistake? Silence all around. What did he just say? Stupid autopilot, stupid social rules! Only around you... Sherlock's eyes widened as he realized his words and their meaning. At least it felt like they did. But it was not like he couldn't control himself. He would just act stupid. He was Sherlock. He didn't understand what humans did. So he looked at John as if he didn't understand the silence.  
Then the car stopped, Sherlock jumped out immediately. The case. Focus on the case! You can always talk about the case. 

John let out a careful breath, cheeks reddening when he thought about what Sherlock had said, a warmth washing through his heart as he kept thinking about it. The male sighed, slowly opening his mouth to speak to the detective with bright eyes, however the detective was already rushing out of the taxi towards the crime scene. The male let out a groan, resting back into the chair briefly before slipping out of the taxi. He passed the money to the driver, nodded his thanks before following Sherlock towards the scene "Hey Sherlock! Please wait for me" he panted slightly, his limp giving him some problems due to how serious his nightmares had been the night before. John soon caught up to him and he reached out, grabbing Sherlocks arm to support himself after rushing towards him. John panted slightly and glanced up at Sherlock, the doctor still holding onto his arm tightly before he realised what he was doing "Ah sorry... best not to do that.... people will talk" he smiled sheepishly at him, meeting eyes with Sherlocks before moving away from him, walking besides him slowly as he followed him to the building.


	2. Shut it out

“They always do, don't they?”, Sherlock smiled back before he entered the building. He knew they did, but it was not like he cared about what the public thought. It was important to John though. He wanted to look good in the public, and he wanted the same for Sherlock. And if that's what made John happy he would take care of it. It wasn't like he would let himself get involved, but John surrounding him made him more productive, it let him feel good. So he would ensure John's well-being.   
They walked through the hallways towards the morgue without saying a word. Sherlock was following his own thoughts so the silence wasn't weird to him at all. He looked at John at times for motivation, but his mind was exploring the case already again. He retold the facts he knew to himself and remembered the results of his researches.   
He opened the door to the morgue, where Molly waited for them already.   
“ 'Morning, where's the corpse? No time to lose, the case is incredibly exciting!” 

John sighed, allowing himself to hang back as Sherlock entered the building. John studied the males back and nodded, a smile growing on his lips "I suppose they do..." he muttered, allowing his eyes to close for a moment to allow his racing heart to calm down before he rushed forwards, making his way into the building after him. John hummed happily as he made his way through the hospital, thinking over the relationship he actually has with Sherlock. They were definitely friends, they had there... slight intimate moments and intense minutes but he knew that they would never be more. He knew he didnt exactly help himself by saying constantly that he wasnt gay. But he wasnt sure as to whether Sherlock had realised that he was infact bi sexual... he had never brought a man home, but he'd had 2 male lovers since joining homes with Sherlock, mostly to try and get over his feelings for the tall detective.   
John hummed as they stepped into the morgue, the Doctor leaning against the wall as he watched Sherlock become excited over the body he was to view. He knew that molly had a massive crush on him, and in all honesty, he found himself getting jealous. The small touches she gave him, the flirtatious smiles and laughs. There were times where he thought that he was going to snap at her for doing it, but he knew that Sherlock would never accept his feelings for him. And here John was, Watching Sherlock deduce a body.

The body had several scratches, it's condition showed that it had been on the ground of the river for 11 days and a half, the last sand murder had happened 3 days ago. Sherlock looked at her clothes. They had been quite expensive. Lower upperclass, he presumed. There had been jewelry on her before, her neck showed lines where her tent was brighter, as well as around her left wrist. There were no green imprints so it must have been gold or silver at least.  
„John, call Lestrade so he can tell us more about her identity“, Sherlock said while he started to look at her hair and the thumbs. He knew who she was, but maybe he had missed something. Although that was very unlikely. But he wanted to include John in his studies.

John glanced up, finally breaking out of his train of thought and he smiled gently at the detective, firmly nodding before pressing his phone to his ear, waiting for Lestrade to pick up the phone before beginning to speak to him. As he spoke to the inspector, the doctor began to do his rounds about the body, carefully studying the wounds and the state of decomposition, knowing that to figure out the identity of the person, they would need the help of dental records. The male listened to greg ramble on about a possible woman but the results were said to be 78% likely that it was said woman so they would need to check dental records. John nodded firmly "Alright, I will tell him" he muttered before ending the call, proceeding to shove his phone into his pocket "So, Body is almost oo decomposed to accurately test for an identity. There has been a 78% match to a woman named Selena Goves, However they will need to check dental records to find a definite identity and that will be atleast a day" he informed the sociopath "Sorry Sherlock" he said before gently patting his arm, able to feel the glares he was receiving from Molly 

Sherlock looked up from the body and at John now. Should he just... well, yes.   
“That's fine, isn't it? A day off, won't that be nice? Come on John, let's grab some food and go for a walk!”, Sherlock shouted excitedly as he took John's arm for a second. He then let it go, and went to the exit door. He was sure John would follow him, even if it would take a moment, but then he'd be behind him again.   
He was in the middle of the hallway when he heard the footsteps of John behind him and looked at him from the corner of his eyes. He was very aware that this mysterious behavior made him more interesting, especially to John who sought the adventure. A giggle escaped his throat. 

John blinked at Sherlocks sudden enthusiasm to spending some time with him, a smile of happiness and surprise washing over his face and he nodded "Yes! Lets get out of here and grab some food.. im starving!" He groaned and a sly smirk grew onto his lips when Sherlock took a hold of his arm briefly, John gently placing his hand over Sherlocks arm before turning to look at Molly, Giving her a smug smile "See you later Molly!" He giggled, knowing he was making her jealous as the male walked out of the room with the detective. John hummed as he followed alongside him, his leg no longer giving him any troubles as all the thoughts of the nightmares before had been removed from his brain. However there was one thing confusing him, Sherlocks enthusiasm and Giggle. John smirked and shook his head, grabbing his arm and cautiously linking their arms together "Mmm What are you up to? No good im guessing" he smirked up at Sherlock, sticking his tongue out briefly 

“Why do you always assume I'm up to something?”, Sherlock asked with a kind of disbelief in his voice, but it still was clear he was playing, “We'll be going for a nice walk, not more or less.”  
They went outside where the sun was surprisingly shining. Sherlock wondered how John's mood had changed into a good one so fast, but still he walked on. He had to make him promises and keep him entertained so he's stay with him.   
“So, do you know a nice place where we could grab something we can eat on the way?”, Sherlock asked his friend as he realized he had no idea where they could get something. He had never needed a snack stall, food had not been important, and if he had needed some he would just have found something somewhere. But John surely was an expert when it came to this.

John hummed when the male asked about whether he knew about any places that they could eat, the man slowly retracting his hands off Sherlock when he noticed the gesture hadnt been noticed. The doctor glanced away briefly and slowly shrugged his shoulders "hmm... There is a nice Bakery which does some awesome sausage rolls and sandwiches?" He suggested to the detective, raising his hand up to hail them a taxi "It will be my treat" he said firmly before glancing back at him, a bright look in his eyes "Its not a date though" he teased, however the look on his face and his tone of voice made it very difficult for the sociopath to know if he was being serious or Joking. John hummed and told the Cabbie of the address before leaning back into his seat, watching the detective slip in besides him. John watched him quietly for a few moments before giving him a grin as he looked his way "So.... Molly has a crush on you" he said simply, deciding to bring up the topic "Gunna give her a go?" He asked slowly, jealousy flooding through his tone of voice 

Sherlock hadn't really listened to what the place he and John were about to go to would be, but he was sure John had made a good decision. He couldn't have thought of something too far away, the places in town were restaurants, most snack stalls were able to be found at the river.   
“It's not a date though”, he heard John say and looked at him. Of course it wasn't, why did he have to say that repeatedly? The ordinary human brain was weird. Sherlock thought about it for a second and came to the assumption that it was because he had said that he would pay for the food, a thing that was usually done in relationships, paying for the other. Obviously he didn't want Sherlock to think that he wanted to take him out or something. Why? Was he behaving that weird next to all gay people he knew? Sherlock had never paid attention to that. Maybe he did.  
John then called a cab and Sherlock followed him into it. The detective could feel his friend's view on him and started to feel uncomfortable. He just wanted to say something as John started to talk and asked him about Molly.   
“Molly?”, Sherlock asked in wonder, “Why would I go out with her? I told you, girlfriends are not my area.”  
He looked at John and wondered what was going on in that brain of his. Why would he ask him something like that? Friendly worry probably. 

John looked over to him and gave him a gentle smile "Ah.. Boys right?" He asked, tilting his head to the side and studying his face for a few moments "Is that why you walk about in a sheet all the time? Trying to draw me in?" He asked, a small smirk on his lips and his cheeks turned a slow pink colour. He rested back into the chair and sighed "We are just going to a cafe, it will be nice" he said, the male clearly in a far better mood compared to before, his heart pounding as he thought over his feeling for Sherlock, licking his lips slowly before chuckling, shaking his head "Ahh... Emotions" he said simply, glancing across to him. "Ever loved someone Sherlock?" He asked 

“Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side”, Sherlock said as all emotion died on his face. Love, caring... was not an advantage. Mycroft's words that were burnt into his head appeared once again. It was like an impulse. Love – shut it out. Fight it.   
He looked outside the window, away from John. He just couldn't let this happen again. He couldn't love to lose. And with Moriarty still being around it was only a matter of time until he'd come after John. Sherlock's past was a heavy burden to bear already, and he couldn't have John die, too. He himself would die before he let that happen. It was a small line and Sherlock was at the edge of it. If he didn't shut it out now... he could probably get involved. 

Johns face hardened when he listened to him speak, turning his head to look at him and he met Sherlocks eyes with fire in his own. "Sentiment is for the losing side?" He growled before clenching his fists "No Sherlock, you are wrong. Its sentiment, love and caring that keeps you fighting till the end, which helps you win." He said "And you have no right to talk about sentiment when you have my tatty union jack pillow which you keep refusing to get rid of Sherlock." He said firmly, glancing away briefly before sighing, shaking his head before looking away from him "You can be so bloody cold... I clearly must be on the losing side then since I care about you massively and I also Lov-" the male stopped what he was saying, shaking his head as he knew he couldnt continue that sentance, wouldn't tell Sherlock of his feelings 

Sherlock looked away now and he wouldn't turn his head for anything. Tears were starting to form in his eyes, caused by the words John expressed, he couldn't let him see that. He couldn't stand John being mad at him, especially because all he wanted was for him to be happy. Probably he should get him another girlfriend, somebody that would make him happy. There had to be somebody that would stay longer than the previous ones. Thinking of John with somebody at his side hurt badly, but he had to be happy.   
Then he had to turn his head. John had started a sentence, one he didn't finish, he talked about love and Sherlock didn't understand. He didn't just confess that he loved him, did he? That couldn't be. John always insisted on him being straight and also... nobody could ever fall for such an arse like Sherlock was. Nobody. It was impossible that anybody could ever love him. John had messed up his words for sure, and that was also the reason he stopped talking.   
An ache crossed Sherlock's heart, and it was this ache that let him awake to the fact that he had already got involved. He clearly had feelings for John, probably for quite some time now, and he had always tried to fight it. He would continue that fight. He could never give John what he needed. What he deserved. Sherlock didn't know a thing about love, all he knew was that it was painful, because it always ended in loss. Everything inbetween didn't exist. So he would ensure John happiness. He could find the somebody that was just right for him.  
The cab stopped and Sherlock climbed out of it without saying a word. He saw the place John wanted to go to and walked towards it. He had already made a plan. He had to break John's heart.

John clenched his fists as he waited for the taxi to drive up towards the cafe, able to feel the tension in the air. He couldn't believe he had almost slipped up and told Sherlock that he loved him. He could feel his chest begin to ache as he thought over what would of happened if he had said. Would Sherlock have ignored his feelings? Or did Sherlock feel the same way? John sighed, rubbing his eyes quickly as he felt the start of some tears begin to swell up. The male smiled as they finally parked up, the male glancing across to talk to Sherlock but the detective had already ran off towards the cafe. John let out a disappointed sigh, slipping out of the car himself and walking towards the cafe but he made no attempt to catch up with him. He scratched the back of his neck as he made his way inside, following Sherlock towards a table and sitting down in front of him, a weak smile on his lips "Do you want a drink Sherlock?" 

“No...”, Sherlock replied with his mind being far, far away, “We said we would just grab something, remember? Go for a walk then.”  
He was already playing that scene where he'd break John in his head. He knew what would make him furious, what would make him leave. It was for the best. Once they were apart Moriarty wouldn't expect Sherlock to care about John anymore and he would be safe. Keeping John safe was the number one priority. Everything else had to stand behind. When they had beaten Moriarty, they probably could be together... no. Sherlock couldn't allow himself to these thoughts. He was not what John needed, what anybody needed. He was a high functioning sociopath. He solved crimes, investigated in murders. Wherever he'd go, death would follow him. And John's death was something he couldn't overcome. If John ever died he'd definitely end himself, too.

John paused as he listened to him speak before he let out a small sigh "Alright... I will go get us some sausage rolls and then we will go for a walk" he shrugged slowly before standing up "just sit here for a minute while I get them and then we will go" he nodded slowly before making his way towards the front counter. John let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding as he thought about how Sherlock was acting. It was worrying, the Detective was acting shifty, like he had something on his mind. John sighed, sadly muttering his order before waiting for them to be cooked. John slowly crossed his arms, glancing back at Sherlock briefly before turning his attention back to the waitress. He gave the lady a polite smile before taking the sausage rolls from her. John slowly made his way towards Sherlock, head low as he walked towards him and he held out a sausage rolls to the sociopath "there, Come on then, let's go for this walk then" he said, giving him a slight smile before gently tugging the sleeve of Sherlocks Coat, as if telling him to hurry up when actually, he just wanted to touch the detective. Truthfully he wanted to wrap his arms around his waist and press his face into his chest, but he knew that wouldnt happen. 

Sherlock followed John outside, then he took the lead. The touch let a warm shiver run over him and he wondered what that had been.   
“You didn't hit on that waitress? You're not in your best form, are you?”, Sherlock forced himself to grin as he started to walk towards the place he wanted to go to. The reason for John to leave.   
He held his food in his hand without eating it. Although he was hungry he couldn't eat. It didn't feel like the right time for it, his throat felt constricted. He could never give in to pleasures.

John let out a weak chuckle and shook his head "Nope! Didnt hit on her" he chuckled sadly, looking down at his feet as he walked along, following him with a small breath. He ran his fingers through his hair slowly and glanced around the room, swallowing nervously as he shifted so that he was walking besides him "So, where are we going?" He asked curiously, wondering where Sherlock was leading them. John glanced down at the sausage roll and sighed, no longer feeling hungry but he figured that he had best to eat it rather than waste it. John slowly bit into it and sighed, it was warm, tasted nice, but it didnt remove the slight ache in his heart "Im sorry if I have done anything to upset you or something..." he slowly shrugged, glancing up at the sociopath "But you still havent said, where are we going?" He smiled 

“It's nice weather today, isn't it?”, Sherlock said, looking up into the sky, “Perfect time to do some deductions outside.”  
They walked around a corner and could then see the River Thames. It was still possible to see where the police had taken the corpse out of the water and it would be very easy to find information here.   
Sherlock looked at John to see if he'd react the way he had expected. It was impossible that he'd react any different. He had raised his expectations to spend some time together when in the end it had just been to investigate in the case.


	3. The confrontation

Johns heart ached when he listened to the detective speak. The male swallowed carefully and he shook his head, Slowly coming to a stop "No... no im not doing this" he breathed, slowly looking up at Sherlock with sad eyes "In all honesty Sherlock, I was expecting that we would be spending time together, not just bloody investigating this case"he said, clenching his fists and glancing away from him "Go enjoy your deductions, im staying here" he said firmly, looking up at Sherlock with angry and hurt eyes "I dont want to get wet" he lied, glancing away from him before sighing "Just come back here when you are finished looking" he said, stepping back away from the detective before turning away from him, ignoring the burning pain in his chest, tears filling his eyes "I dont know what I was expecting.." he grumbled and stepped away 

Sherlock watched John walk away and took a deep breath. This was what he had wanted. He had been successful. Then why did it feel so wrong?   
No time or reason to think about that now. He had to act like he didn't understand, like he didn't know what was going on. So he just walked down to the river. It would be hard to focus now that all he could think about was John's pain and it felt like his own heart was a mirror to his companion's. But John would be safe and that was all that mattered.  
Anyway, now that he was here he could also look for clues. His shoes made that typical noise when he walked over the sand and he wondered if John could ever forgive him or understand once the work was done. Sherlock wasn't even allowed to turn around and look at him. He had to play his role. He didn't care. He didn't care. He told that to himself over and over again.

John had caught a Taxi home back to 221b, fairly upset with how Sherlock had acted. The male was looking forward to actually spending some time with the detective but as per usual, John had been disappointed and he'd had enough. The doctor no longer wanted to take part in any cases with the detective. John let out a breath as he pushed open the door to 221b, making his way up the stairs towards the flat before sitting down on the cough, allowing his emotions to finally flood over him and the strong solider began to cry. John cried for about 20 minutes before slowly laying down across the couch, laying on his stomach. John didn't know how long he was laying there for, but finally, he heard the click of the living room door open and the sound of Sherlocks shoes echoed around him. John didnt say anything to the detective, because he could already feel the tears begin to restart so he quickly pressed a pillow to his face, waiting for the sociopath to either speak or ignore his existance. 

Sherlock took a deep breath before he entered the apartment. He didn't know what would await him in there and it scared him. He even feared that John could have collected the things that were the most important to him and had left... For god's sake, that had been exactly what Sherlock had wanted! So why couldn't he simply accept it?  
When he went inside he saw John laying on the couch, a pillow in front of his face. What was he doing? Trying to kill himself?!  
Sherlock stormed towards him, took the pillow and threw it far away: “Come on, it wasn't that bad! Not at all a reason for killing y...”  
He had started but couldn't finish. He saw John's tears and didn't know at all what to say, all he could do was stare. This was... his fault. He had done this to John. Sherlock wanted it to stop. He didn't want John to be like this. But how on earth could he make this right?

John let out a cry as the pillow was yanked from his arms, the solider desperately trying to grab it back but it was too late, Sherlock had already seen the tears in his eyes. The male breathed carefully, his chest aching and he quickly wiped and rubbed at his eyes "What do you want Sherlock..?" He asked, slowly standing up and pushing past him when he found that he couldnt stop his tears. The male sniffed and shook slightly, letting out a slight cry when he couldn't stop his tears flowing "Just leave me alone Sherlock" he said, this was the first time the male had ever cried in front of the sociopath, and he never wanted to be in this situation. He wanted to be held by the other male, protected... looked after. The Solider sighed and bit at his bottom lip "im going to go to sleep okay..?"" 

“John, listen, I...”, Sherlock started, still out of words. This situation was overwhelming him. He should let go of John, he should let him go to his room, where he could be alone, where he could cry and think, just like Sherlock had done it when he had been younger, when he had been hurt. He had never understood why people wanted physical contact when they were sad as he had never gotten any in these moments, he himself preferred to be just left alone, but John was an ordinary human being. And as much as he used this as an insult when he talked about Anderson, it was a compliment in this case and something he actually wished he could be too.   
“I don't know what is wrong”, he continued, trying to calm him down, trying to find suiting words, but he had never been good at that, “But please, please don't be like that.”

John paused when he heard the male begin to speak, slowly turning his head and looking at the detective, a sad and obvious fake smile on his lips "Nothings wrong Sherlock, dont worry about it" he said before slowly closing his eyes, his own words causing his heart to ache and tears began to flow down his cheeks properly before he finally let out a sob, the male never having faced such strong emotions at once. Both love and hate for the man in front of him. John breathed carefully and allowed his eyes to open, a smile on his lips once more "I guess your right, Sentiment is a chemical defect. I mean, here I am, in love with you yet im crying with sadness over being rejected... defeated" he muttered, rubbing at his eyes "I will leave you in peace, I'm sure you would prefer to talk to anyone else right now, even Anderson" he grumbled before making his way towards his bedroom once more 

Sherlock grabbed John's arm to stop him from walking away before he could he even realize what he was doing. His brain had stopped to be in charge, no more calculating. His heart was breaking through. He had tried to fight it, but he just couldn't anymore.  
“Do you really think there would be anybody who I would rather spend time with than with you?”, he asked, looking down on his broken John, who wanted to answer but Sherlock didn't let him, “Do you think so? Because I can tell you it's not true. And you know that. You're being hurt, that's all. That's why you're mad at me. But listen, John, I had no other choice. I had to do this, Moriarty's out there somewhere and he will definitely come after you if he sees that I care about you. I can't risk that.”  
John paused when he felt Sherlock grab at his arm, able to feel his chest aching as he turned his head to look up at the detective. He slowly met eyes with him and his mouth opened in slight surprise at his words. The male chewed on his bottom lip and shrugged at his first question, opening his mouth to answer him before being cut off by Sherlock who had kept talking. John swallowed nervously and nodded at his words, sniffing slightly before rubbing at his eyes "Okay... I understand what you mean.." he muttered sadly before glancing away from him, chewing at his bottom lip "im sorry I have been getting upset... but at least... at least its nice to know that you do care about me" he smiled sadly, looking up at the detective "thank you" he said, reaching for Sherlocks hand and giving it a small squeeze before pulling back, nervous about touching him "I erm... meh... cant we y'know.. act like we care about each other in private at least...?" He mumbled 

Sherlock got nervous again. Not only because of the possibility that Moriarty could be watching them in this exact moment. He felt John's touch and didn't know how to react to it. It was nice and warm, like it had been the last time. Physical contact did make him uncomfortable, but only because he had never learned what to do when it happened.   
“It would be for the best if we didn't”, he said and saw the sadness reappear to John's eyes, so he added: “But if we found a secret place in which it would be impossible for him to attend then I don't see a reason why we shouldn't.”

John swallowed nervously as he listened to him carefully, nodding carefully "O-Okay, I can find somewhere we could go" he nodded firmly before letting out a sad sigh, wishing they could show affection to each other within the house. The male breathed carefully before slowly stepping forwards "Thank you" he smiled gently before leaning in, lightly pressing his lips against the detectives cheek before slowly pulling away "Im tired... is it okay if I head to sleep now?" He smiled gently at him before gently squeezing Sherlock's hand once more before slowly pulling away, making his way off towards his bedroom, his heart pounding when he realised what he had done. John let out a shy giggle and shook his head, quickly rushing from the room before Sherlock had the chance to stop him this time. 

Sherlock couldn't move, not even his face. He was frozen and simply stood there, he didn't know for how long. John, he had... he... had kissed him on the cheek... and it was good! The feeling that had it's centre where his heart was, exciting and warm, started to conquer the rest of his body. He placed the hand where John's lips had been and wondered how such a small gesture could cause him happiness. He slowly looked where John had gone and for one moment he thought about asking for more.  
Then he returned to reality. There couldn't be more, not until... yes. Moriarty again. He had to be defeated. That stupid sand case was no longer of importance. There must have been a way to provoke Moriarty, to make him leave the shadows. Sherlock couldn't wait no longer. The fight had to be fought, for John. He wanted to be with him. Yes, he was scared of loss, but he knew that John would never leave him, he'd fight until death. And death would be the only thing that could part them. So he had to defeat death.  
He sat down on the sofa and started to think.


	4. Showing some affection

John breathed nervously as he stepped into his bedroom, slowly closing the door behind him. A massive grin grew on his lips and he let out a squeak of happiness, practically bouncing across towards the bed and he fell back down onto it. The male gently touched his lips, thinking back to how soft Sherlock's skin felt against them. The male hummed and allowed his eyes to close, basking in the warm emotions washing through him before a grin grew on his lips again. He didn't care if they couldn't show their affection towards each other besides in a secret place, all he cared about was that, he had kissed Sherlock's cheek and not been pushed away!!   
John took in a slow breath in an attempt to calm himself down, trying to think of somewhere the pair could go that Moriarty would never find them. John scratched at his chin, humming a soft song to himself as he tried to think before blinking, a slightly naughty location popping into his mind. The male hummed and slowly slipped off the bed, making his way towards his bedroom door and pulling it open "Sherlock! Can you come here a second please?!" He called down to him, tapping his foot impatiently against the carpet

So, what was it that Moriarty wanted to achieve? Chaos, Control, Pain. He was mad, his brain like a box of cats, so actually easy to manipulate. He had to be given the feeling that he was winning, that everything worked out the way he wanted.  
Sherlock sat there in deep thought. He was plotting. Probably Mycroft could have helped him, but he wouldn't go to him unless it was really necessary or he would have already made a plan. He surely was kept busy hanging out with the inspector anyway, and when Sherlock would call all he'd say would be that there was important government business he had to work on. Funny how neither of them could manage not to get involved.   
But he had to focus, John sneaking into his thoughts was the last thing he could need to deal with now. Though it could be a nice distraction... no! Plotting. Plotting.  
Had... he just heard John's voice? Probably just his head again. Wanting to think about John, wanting to forget the trouble. But what if it wasn't? If it really had been John calling out for him? If he didn't go to him then it would have... really bad consequences.  
So Sherlock got up and went to John's room. 

John swallowed nervously, shifting from one foot to another as he waited for Sherlock to arrive at his room. His eyes lit up as he saw Sherlock making his way up the stairs and he slowly stepped forwards "Sherlock... I ...." he breathed nervously, glancing away for a moment "We need a secret location right? Where Moriarty wont come knocking yes?" He smiled, cheeks starting to darken in colour as he tried to get his words out, the male scratching the back of his neck nervously "How about my bedroom?" He asked "I mean, I keep it under lock and bolt, so I don't see how he could get inside" he smirked before stepping forwards, reaching up and taking a hold of Sherlock face, pulling him down slightly "Damn, you are so bloody tall" he laughed, studying Sherlock's eyes before running his thumb along his cheekbones "Please can this... be our 'secret location'?" 

Sherlock's eyes got big when he heard John say the word “bedroom”... He was very well aware of what people were doing in their... bedrooms. And he didn't have any experiences in that area, unlike John. His blood pressure raised immediately and he had no idea what to reply, or if he would even be able to reply. Sure, he had wanted this since... like forever, but now that it was real it was quite different and Sherlock started to be afraid.  
But the touch on his cheek … it felt so right and left him wanting more.  
“He.. could have cameras hidden here...”, he whispered as he looked deeply into John's eyes. His heart was racing and he looked at John's lips. Sherlock wondered what they would feel like on his own. 

John let out a breathless laugh as he listened to the flustered male speak, his own cheeks turning a deep shade of red and he slowly ran his tongue along his bottom lip when he noticed Sherlock was staring at them "Well... if he has already got cameras set up... its a little late to show him that you 'dont care' about me" he breathed, studying Sherlocks eyes briefly before carefully leaning in. John pulled the taller male down closer to him and he let out a hum, a smile on his lips "Cant we just he this moment..?" He muttered before pressing his lips against Sherlock, a jolt of excitement rushing through the doctors veins. 

Sherlock's eyes opened wide in surprise of what John was doing, simply... kissing him! It wasn't like this had never happened to him before but... this was the first time that it actually meant something to him. That it overwhelmed him. Took all his thoughts and his breath away.  
That was the moment he gave in to it. He answered the kiss and placed his one hand at the back of John's neck while with the other one he ran through his hair. He couldn't think no more. Reality had never been more real, he had never felt more alive. His heart was racing, his breath went deeper and harder and in this moment he didn't care about anything that would happen in the outside world.

John breathed in sharply as he felt Sherlock run his fingers through his hair, His weakness. John let out a gentle groan and shifted in closer, wrapping his arms around his neck slowly and smiling gently as he kissed the male back gently, Loving the feel of the detectives lips against his own. He slowly pulled back, allowing himself to catch his breath before glancing up into Sherlocks eyes, a grin on his lips as he studied them before pulling him back in for a kiss. John chuckled softly as he allowed his hands to slowly slip down his sides and rest on the skinny detectives hips "mine.." he grumbled against his lips, his military side and protectiveness over the detective was beginning to Show. "Mine.. All mine.." he muttered before tugging at the detectives bottom lip, fully aware that he was completely virgin and new to all of this. 

Sherlock could feel John's touch and he never wanted him to stop. Him being possessive like this, but protective still, demanding and gentle at the same time. When John ran his hands down on Sherlock sides he could feel himself tremble all over. He blushed and he couldn't remember that he had ever done that before.  
Yes. Yes yes yes he was all his. Whatever John was up to, Sherlock was lost to him.   
But he slowly woke up again as he realized that he had no idea what to do. His hands were still caressing his soldier's hair, but it surely was time to do something else, or wasn't it? What if John was waiting for him to do something? He had no idea what that something would be! Fear started to build itself in Sherlock's mind. How could he ever be enough for John? How could he possibly reach his expectations? … Satisfy him? 

John smirked when he could see the panic and fear flood the detectives eyes, the solider chuckling to himself and he shifted his hands up to cup Sherlocks face "Stop overthinking things... touch where and whatever you want... if you want to run your fingers through my hair, then do it... if you want to touch somewhere else, then do it" he breathed before leaning into his neck, slowly kissing along it and gently biting down, sucking at the pale skin. John was beginning to get oversensitive though due to how much Sherlock was caressing his hair so he reached out, taking The detectives hands and placing them down onto his ass "Squeeze" he growled into his ear before gently nibbling at his ear lobe. 

Sherlock couldn't help it but moaned out as John was placing kisses on his neck. He could feel how his body got excited, all of his body. He wanted more.   
He was surprised at first when John started to lead his hands, but then he realized that it was good, that it was what he wanted and did as he was commanded. A silent “Yes, sir” escaped his lips.  
Sherlock could see that John liked what he was doing, that he enjoyed his touch as much as he did himself. So he decided to unbutton John's shirt so that he could reach his bare upper body. Would he like it or stop him? Stop thinking! He ran his fingers over the free skin then, enjoying the muscles that John's body consisted of. 

John smirked against the skin on Sherlock's neck as he heard him moan. John hummed happily and gently placed a kiss on the deeply coloured bruise before pulling back slowly, allowing Sherlock to unbutton his shirt "We wont go much further than this Sherlock... we will take everything slowly since well... you are very very new to this" he muttered quietly, pupils largely dilated, a sign of pure love for the male in front of him. John studied him carefully and gave him a small smile, shifting in close again before kissing Along Sherlock's neck again, noting that the detective clearly liked it "And don't think I haven't noticed that you like being commanded by such a... strong soldier" he purred before moving in close to his ear "A captain... perhaps I should try on my uniform" he chuckled, kissing his cheek before reaching out with his hands, slowly undoing Sherlock's Suit Jacket and allowing it to drop down onto the floor, wanting to feel the detectives upper body, only his upper body... for now. John groaned as he slowly began to undo his shirt buttons, the sight instantly heating his member 

Sherlock paused for a second when John told him they wouldn't go much further, as he thought he had probably made a mistake, that it would have been wrong to open his shirt. But when he heard that it was for him, that it was because John was being considerate, he was really glad that he had found somebody this understanding. Somebody who loved him this dearly.  
When John took care of his neck again, Sherlock leaned his head to the side so that he could reach it better and bit his lip, trying to remain silent, but he failed. It simply was too good.  
"And don't think I haven't noticed that you like being commanded by such a... strong soldier”, Sherlock heard John say and blushed immediately. He knew his most guarded secret now, but if he wanted to share it with anyone, it would be John. As the soldier suggested putting on his uniform, Sherlock couldn't help but imagine it, and he couldn't get that image out of his mind anymore. It was the most attractive thing he could think of.  
“Please tell me what you would like me to do”, Sherlock said breathlessly when John had taken off his jacked and opened his shirt, as he wanted to return to John what he was doing for him. He wanted to give him some pleasure, too. And he really had a thing for his commands. 

John hummed as he listened to Sherlock speak, slowly pulling back and tapping at his bottom lip as he tried to think of a command that he wanted Sherlock to do. He hummed softly and smirked, slowly stepping backwards to the bed and sitting down. John looked up at the Detective and a smirk grew on his lips as he patted his lap "Sit Soldier." He said firmly, fire in his eyes yet there was a smile on his lips "Don't make me tell you twice or I will punish you" he purred before pulling him in for a deep kiss "And if you want to do something for me.... Bite my neck... Mark it like I did yours... explore my body, note everything down in that mind palace of yours" he purred happily, studying the man who was sat in his lap 

Sherlock was incredibly surprised by the tone John suddenly started to use and watched him for a second, then he did as he was told. It was a really great surprise.  
At first he feared that he'd be too heavy for John, as he was much taller than him, but he was wrong because his soldier was strong. And he did like that.  
After having enjoyed another one of those astoundingly passionate kisses John told him what he would like him to do and this was clearly a thing he could do.   
He looked at John first, like he was checking if this really was what he wanted, then he leaned over to his neck and placed his lips on the soft skin. He started to kiss it gently, carefully, but did it more intensely when John demanded more. Sherlock bit it carefully and sucked on the skin, doing his best to please his captain.  
He then moved on to John's shoulder and placed small kisses on it while he ran his fingertips over the strong body. 

John gasped out loudly as Sherlock began to kiss and suck at his neck, letting out a gentle moan "Fuck... Good boy, good solider" he purred loudly, reaching down and squeezing the mans hips with a growl "Mine." He snarled protectively before grabbing his jaw, pulling him away from his wounded shoulder to kiss his lips. Both to show his dominance and to get him away from his shoulder, that part of his body being the only piece he was insecure about. 

Sherlock was happy that he could do John some good. After their kiss he took a break from it and just stared at John. He looked at his face, bright and clear in front of his own, his eyes, his lips, his nose. Sweet perfection.   
“Yes, I'm yours. Only yours”, Sherlock whispered.


	5. Going to bed

John slowly peeled back, panting softly as he looked up at the detective, a massive grin growing on his lips and he felt a warmth begin to flood through him "W-Wow Sherlock" he whispered, reaching out to Gently cup his cheek before pecking his lips one last time. John let out a small laugh and pulled the other male in close, holding onto him tightly. "Mine.. I dont want to stop kissing you" he chuckled softly, slowly running a hand along his back before looking into his eyes slowly "So... this will be our special place and room... I want you to sleep here tonight" he muttered, studying the detectives eyes carefully before giving him a gentle smile 

“Neither do I”, replied Sherlock to John saying that he didn't want for this to stop. And the detective spoke with a warmth in his voice that he had forgotten that it was capable of.  
“You... you think it is a good idea?”  
He got nervous again when John said that he wanted them to share a bed. It was a huge step. Still Sherlock wanted the same. He couldn't leave now, he didn't want to. The human interaction, the physical contact that could make people feel better and which he had never gotten, he started to understand it now. And all he wished was for John to teach him more of it.

John smiled and nodded firmly, studying his eyes carefully for a breath moment "I think it is a very good idea" he breathed before slowly leaning in close, kissing his lips deeply before allowing his eyes to close, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him in close. John wanted to go further with Sherlock than they had already gone, but he was scared that he was moving too fast and would scare Sherlock away. The male pulled back carefully, whining as their lips were pulled apart "We will go at your pace.. You tell me if you want to do more or less okay?" He asked, tilting his head to the side 

Sherlock looked at John in consideration. More... or less. It was hard to say. It was like his body did want more, and wasn't he a little old to make a fuss about it? He wanted to be close to John, but did he want to be this close? It was hard to say. He didn't want to disappoint John. He wanted to tell him he was ready, he wanted to be the man he deserved.  
“John, I...”, Sherlock started full of insecurity. He didn't know what to say and looked at him desperately. Why couldn't things be easy? He didn't want for John to leave him again. Sherlock doubted that he could survive that.

John paused when he watched the other male carefully, a slight frown on his face as he could see the desperation on his face "Sherlock, Relax" he said firmly, reaching up and cupping his face carefully. "You wont disappoint me for not wanting to do something okay? We will go at your pace" he smiled gently at him, leaning forwards and kissing his forehead gently. "You dont need to worry okay.." he mumbled against his forehead before pulling back, studying Sherlocks eyes gently. "Relationships are suppose to be relaxing, you dont have to worry hun" he said before Slowly pulling his arms away from the male "If you arent comfortable sleeping in here, you dont have to, i wont be disappointed" he said truthfully. 

“Actually... I would love to share the bed with you”, Sherlock said, “I've been waiting for this so long, every time that I looked at you I could only think of being close to you. And now it seems so surreal...” He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back to where they had started, “I guess what I'm trying to say is that I doubt I could ever feel more comfortable than when I am with you. It's just all very new to me, like you have mentioned correctly, so I think it would be for the best if you lead me to everything. I would love to sleep next to you tonight, but at first I think we had to prepare ourselves for bed first, and second... probably you should lie down first then and tell me... well, what positioning would be normal in this case.”  
These words had been really difficult for the detective, but in the end he was glad that he had said them. He looked down now, not able to meet John's view, as he had never been more honest in his life and he felt exposed. 

John gave him a gentle smile and slowly nodded, leaning up and kissing the other males nose gently "Okay, lets get ready for bed and then I will show you the best places to lie" he nodded firmly before slowly slipping off the bed so he could get undressed, the Doctor slowly stripping off his shirt before pausing "Erm... I hope it isnt a problem, but I usually just sleep in my boxers, but if you want me to wear pjs, just say" he mumbled, cheeks turning a soft red before he slowly unzipped his jeans, allowing them to be pushed off and crumple down on the floor. John looked over to the detective who was still dressed and he chuckled softly, shaking his head "Im not cuddling you while im half naked and you are clothed, take them off, you can borrow some PJ's if you are uncomfortable... I just.. like the feeling and heat of Skin on Skin" he muttered before shifting across to the bed, slowly sitting down on it and smiling at Sherlock. 

Sherlock looked at John, thinking about the whole thing. He would prefer to wear clothes, although he could sleep better while he was wearing none at all. But next to John being in clothes would be better... probably. He didn't know what was better. How would he know? All he knew was that some really soft clothes could make it way more cuddly and less... sexual. He would actually love for John to wear some kind of pullover and lean against him then, feel safe and protected. But he couldn't disappoint him again, so he started opening his shoes.  
“Whatever you like, John, you are the expert after all”, Sherlock smiled while he continued to get undressed.

John paused when he listened to the other male say that he was the expert in all of this, a small smile growing on his lips and he shook his head "Actually no... you are the first guy I have ever been with, so im just as new to this as you are" he chuckled quietly, stepping forwards and lightly pressing his lips against Sherlocks forehead before moving away from him, making his way across to his wardrobe. He could tell that Sherlock was a little uncomfortable at the fact that John would just sleep in his boxers, so he reached into his wardrobe and found himself a overly large, soft pj top which just covered his arse. He adjusted it slightly once he got it on before turning towards Sherlock, a loving smile on his lips before he pulled out a second Large Shirt "Here, wear this, they are the most comfy ones I have" he said, passing Sherlock the tshirt to wear before John slowly slipped under the bedsheets, Waiting for Sherlock to get changed before he gently patted the space next to him "Come here my love, lay next to me and then I can move us both into better positions" 

Sherlock looked at John and couldn't stop admiring how understanding he suddenly was. Knowing how he felt, although he tried to do what's best for him and still doing anything to make Sherlock feel comfortable.  
He took the shirt John had passed him and put it on. It felt strange, he usually didn't wear these kinds of shirts, but it wasn't bad. It was “comfy”, just as John had explained.  
When he looked up again John had already placed himself on the bed and looked at him expectingly. It was very tempting. How often had he imagined this and now the moment was here. Sherlock climbed into the bed awkwardly, then he looked at John.  
“So, what now, my not-expert?”, he grinned for he was, despite his nervousness, more happy than he had ever been before.

John smirked slightly as he watched Sherlock climb onto the bed next to him, the doctor chuckling as he licked his lips "You look so Tempting" he chuckled softly before slowly turning towards the male who was laying slightly stiffly "Relax Sherlock..." he muttered before slowly wrapping his arms around Sherlocks waist, his heart pounding as he had thought of this moment ever since he felt him begin to develop feelings for Sherlock. John panted softly and his cheeks turned a deep shade of red, the male pressing his face into Sherlocks neck and he let out a shy giggle "you can.. wrap your arms around me too" he muttered "Just relax... do what you think is best" he muttered quietly before slowly pressing his lips against Sherlocks neck. "I have wanted this my whole life" he grumbled before pulling him in even closer, holding onto the back of his shirt tightly."mine..." he reminded him before biting down on Sherlocks pale neck, sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth to create a dark bruise. 

John's kiss helped Sherlock to relax incredibly. He enjoyed it and breathed heavily anew, and wrapped his arm around his... whatever it was that they were now, around him, and reached out for the soldier's hair again. But this time he caressed it carefully, gently. He placed the other hand on John's arm and ran his fingertips over it slowly and lovingly.  
“Me too”, Sherlock whispered and placed a kiss on John's head, “I have known the second we met that we belonged together. And I will never let you go again. I'm sorry for all the hurt I caused you, John”, he continued while holding him close and dearly, “I thought it would be for your best to push you away, that it would be the only way to keep you safe. I just couldn't lose you... please, forgive me...”

John smiled gently up at the inexperienced detective before he shook his head "its okay Sherlock. That doesn't matter anymore... all that matters is, I have you" he whispered, slowly tilting his head up to look at the detective properly before leaning in close, allowing his lips to press against Sherlock's. "I forgive you..." he muttered against his lips before kissing him again, slowly running a hand along Sherlock's side before carefully pulling back with a chuckle, wanting to go so much further with the detective, but out of love and consideration, he controlled himself. John sighed and shifted back, slowly laying down and relaxing his head back onto the pillow "mmm... shall we get some sleep?" He asked him curiously before meeting eyes with him, a loving smile on his lips.

John forgave him... it was relief. Sherlock felt like he was in heaven. He doubted that he could find sleep now, but it surely would be for the best if they got some now. Nobody knew what awaited them tomorrow, and so they had to rest. Also the evening had been so great, he didn't want anything to ruin it. “Yes, let's sleep”, Sherlock said in the most loving way he could and cuddled John.


	6. Trouble in the morning

John grumbled quietly as he slowly began to come around after the deepest sleep he'd had in years. The male hummed and he slowly peeled himself off the warm patch of Skin his cheek was stuck to, sweat wetting his hair. John groaned softly and reached up, running his fingers through his wet hair carefully before blinking his eyes open, looking up at the body beneath him. John smirked as he saw the detective still in a soft sleep. The doctor hummed and gently kissed along Sherlock's jawline before letting out a groan as he felt his crotch brush against the mattress. John internally swore as he glanced down, finally realizing why his heart was pounding so much and why his hair was damp with sweat "Fucking Morning Wood" he panted softly in annoyance before resting his head down against Sherlock's shoulder. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock and slowly played with the bottom of his shirt "It's all your fault.." he muttered quietly, chewing on his bottom lip as he cautiously allowed his hand to slip underneath Sherlock's shirt, his hand resting on the males stomach. John was able to feel heat increase in his crotch and he groaned, cheeks darkening in colour as he slowly danced his fingers along Sherlock's stomach, finding himself getting more aroused as his mind began to fantasize about the sleeping detective. 

“What a sweet scene”, Jim Moriarty grinned as he stepped into the light, John and Sherlock jumped away from each other in fright, “Wouldn't it be nice to spice it up a bit?”  
London's streets darkened as he spoke, the water on the bridge they stood on moved more harshly.   
Moriarty took a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at John; he walked around them slowly, just like a predator surrounding his prey.   
“What a cute pet you have there, Sherlock. Would be a shame if he got hurt, wouldn't it?”  
“You wouldn't do that. The second you shoot John you'd lose all control over me”, Sherlock replied and acted calm.   
“No, but I can hurt him”, Moriarty said and shot John's shoulder.  
“No!”, Sherlock screamed and rushed towards him, trying to help him, “John! John!”

John frowned deeply as he watched the detective Shift and move in his sleep, the doctor tilting his head to the side in slight confusion. "Sherlock...?" He asked slowly, carefully removing his hand from underneath Sherlock's shirt. John reached up and placed his hand on the sleeping detectives cheek "Oi, Sherlock, you are having a nightmare" he frowned deeply, taking a hold of the males shoulders and lightly shaking them to wake up the detective before the nightmare got too Serious "Sherlock!" He snapped at him, deciding his Gentle approach wasn't working so he decided that being a little louder would allow him to remove Sherlock quickly from his nightmare. 

Sherlock breathed in hard and deep as he woke up from this nightmare. Where was he? His view moved from one piece of the room to the other very fast. John. John! He was next to him.. he was fine.   
“You're alright...”, he said to John, but more to himself to convince his heart. It was just a dream. Nothing to be scared about. He leaned against John's chest trying to calm down. His breath slowed down with the seconds passing by. John was talking to him, kind and loving words. 

John nodded quickly and smiled at his new lover " Yes Sherlock, Yes I'm fine" he said and quickly pulled him into his arms, holding the detective tightly "You were just having a nightmare, calm down" he muttered before pressing his lips against the other males temple "You are fine... I'm fine... It's all okay" he muttered into his ear before slowly running a hand down his back as he pulled away, a loving smile on his lips before he shifted uncomfortably on the bed, the male usually able to sort out his morning problem but he couldn't with Sherlock in the room. 

“You're right, all is fine. What am I even doing?”, Sherlock caught himself again realizing how stupid his reaction about this was. He wasn't this weak. This dream couldn't hurt him.  
“Well, thank you for your... support... and the... the last night, John”, Sherlock stuttered as he got away from him and got up, “I'm going to... get ready for the day, have a shower. … See you.”  
When he had closed the door behind him he leaned against it for a little bit and took a deep breath. It was just all too much, he had to think about everything now. Have some quiet time for himself.  
Sherlock went downstairs, got some clothes from his room and soon he stood in the shower. He didn't even know where to start. Two topics were fighting for his attention. John. Moriarty. Love. Fear. John and he had kissed, they had spent the night together. What was to follow that? Moriarty was a threat, he endangered that happiness he had found with John. What would be his next step? Questions, questions. And Sherlock helplessly caught in the middle, weak, having a pressure point. He had to do something about it. And he had to figure out what these feelings were. Of course it was love, he had worked that out quite some time ago, but it was new to him and he didn't know how well he could handle it. He had never planned on getting involved, on caring about somebody else. But in the end it was inevitable. 

John swallowed nervously as he watched his detective rush from the room, the doctor able to feel a slight ache in his heart as he was left in his bed by himself. "God... Its like waking up after a one night stand... They just rush off" he grumbled miserably, hearing the shower switch on. John shook his head and slipped out of the bedsheets, deciding he would act normal and do what he did every morning, make tea. The male pulled on his dress robe and made his way outside, doubt beginning to settle in his mind as he wondered whether Sherlock had regretted the night before. And quite frankly, John was fairly hurt at the detectives quick disappearance. John made the pair a cup of tea each before taking a hold of his own, making his way over to where his chair was positioned in the living room. John knew that this was all new to Sherlock, and that what they had done the night before would lead to there being a greater risk of Jim attacking, capturing and possibly killing John. He slowly closed his eyes as he tried not to think of it, sipping at his tea carefully before allowing his eyes to snap open when he heard Sherlock open the bathroom door "i made you tea Sherlock... Its on the kitchen counter" he called to him 

Sherlock opened the bathroom door and heard John calling to him. He had made the right choice when he had put his suit on. At first he had planned to walk into the living room just with a towel around his hips to see John's reaction to it, but he felt much more comfortable like this.  
He looked at him when he entered the living room and a slight blush scurried over his cheeks when their eyes met. He nodded towards John as a thank you and went to the kitchen to get the tea, then he sat down.  
“Anything of interest in the newspaper?”, Sherlock asked.

John glanced back when he saw Sherlock, a slight smile of disappointment on his lips when he saw the detective walk from the bathroom fully clothed "its really no problem Sherlock.." He muttered before turning away from him, carefully sipping his own drink before shrugging "not that i can see, sorry Sherlock... There may be something in your emails perhaps?" He suggested before tightening his grip on his mug. The male frowned deeply and his heart beat heavily in his chest, the doctor wanting to kiss his detective and eventually, he got the courage. The male stood up, placing his tea down onto the table before walking into the kitchen, watching the detective sip at his tea "Sherlock." He said firmly, smirking as the detective turned towards him. John stepped forwards and grabbed the front of his suit, pulling the man in closer "i refuse to allow last night to be a one off thing" he growled before pressing his lips a little roughly against Sherlock's, quickly tugging and nibbling at his bottom lip. 

For the first second Sherlock was surprised that John had come to him, and when he kissed him he felt excited beyond words, especially because of the way he did it. Demanding, irresistible. Then he remembered and pushed John away.   
“What do you think you're doing?”, he shouted and threw something, he didn't even see what, because his whole focus was placed on John, off the table as he jumped up and rushed out of the kitchen.   
“No! I don't want to hear anything. Just shut up!”, he continued, grabbed his coat and walked out the door. He really hoped that John wouldn't follow him. Not yet.  
Sherlock called a cab and told the driver to bring him away. When he was sat down, he sent a message to John.

“M. watching. Secret location, remember?  
Meet me at Roast.   
The Floral Hall, Stoney Street Borough Market.   
SH”

John panted heavily when Sherlock pulled away from him quickly, heartbreak washing over him momentarily before realization made his blood run cold. Cameras. Bugging devices. Moriarty. John had completely forgotten. John clenched his fists, angry at himself for forgetting about their safe room. However, now he had done it, he needed to continue to act. Once Sherlock had rushed from the room, John let out a loud angry snarl and he used his arm to angrily knock off a variety of books and Sherlock's cup of tea off the table, causing the mug to smash on the floor. The doctor panted heavily, gripping at one of the chairs before slamming his fist down "Stupid!" He shouted before shaking his head "fuck... I fucked up everything .. Our friendship.." He grumbled, all acting for the possible cameras. John felt his phone vibrate in his pocket before smirking slightly, quickly making his way to his room to get dressed before he rushed down the stairs to meet Sherlock at the address he had been texted, being sure to grab his wallet on the way out to make sure he could pay for his taxi 

Sherlock had sat down at a corner in the very back of the restaurant, where most people wouldn't see him, but John would know that he was there, smart John. He would come. Although Sherlock would never doubt his intellect, John was driven by emotions too much, ordinary, beloved John. And those emotions could stand in his way when it was coming to understand, to remember the cameras. But Sherlock had explained it in the message. If he hadn't understood, he would as soon as he got it. But what if he wouldn't read it? If he was so mad, so broken that he wouldn't open the message?   
Sherlock thrummed his fingers on the table. He was getting impatient. What if John wouldn't understand and he had just ruined whatever was about to be built between them? No. John was smart. He would come.


	7. Flirting

John stepped out of the taxi slowly, allowing himself to calm down before making his way into the restaurant. He was still a little hurt from what Sherlock had done, but he knew it was needed, that otherwise Moriarty would get suspicious. But once again, John had allowed his emotions to fog his memory and forget about the cameras being in place. John nodded at the waitress as he made his way inside, a slight smile on his lips as he made his way towards where he hoped Sherlock was sat, and luckily for him, he was correct. John stepped up to the table and studied Sherlock carefully, a slight smirk on his lips as he spoke "You owe me for hurting my feelings..." He muttered into the detectives ear, gently biting it before sitting opposite his detective. John swallowed nervously and studied the mop of still damp curls, heart pounding as he waited for a response "I erm... I'm sorry I kissed you Sherlock" he grumbled, slowly glancing away from him before closing his eyes "I had completely forgotten about the cameras... Especially since you rushed out my room this morning" he grumbled.

“I owe you...”, Sherlock whispered with his mind far away... but shook his head then to eliminate that thought and return to the present.  
“You were distracted by your emotions that's just human”, he said and looked around, wondering if somebody had followed them, and also he couldn't stand John's burning look, “It's not your fault that you're...”, he could stop himself there just in time before he would probably hurt John's feelings again.  
“Is that not what you're supposed to do? I thought everything was said and done, we had been together all night so it was time to continue the morning routine.”  
He wasn't ready to admit that he had been overwhelmed by his feelings, neither to John nor to himself.

Johns eyes hardened slightly as he listened to the detective speak, his heart pounding as he was waiting for the next insult about how sentiment and love is for the losing side, so when Sherlock cut himself off, a surprised look ran across John's face. The male swallowed carefully as he was asked if that wasn't what he was supposed to do "Well... most people are reluctant to get out of bed and away from their partner... Every girl I have been with, we have cuddled and paid each other attention in the mornings" he grumbled, glancing away before shrugging "but if you do not want to do that, then that's fine.. we won't" he said, obvious hints of sadness in his voice. John slowly closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down before shaking his head "can we stay in a hotel tonight.... Somewhere we know Moriarty wont find us... I want... To properly relax around you Sherlock" he said, forcing himself to open his eyes to look at his other half 

Sherlock's heart got struck by an ache when John started to talk about his ex girlfriends. He knew that he was with him now, but still... it was a mix of hurt and jealousy. But he listened carefully anyway and understood why he had hurt his love.  
“I'm sorry, I didn't know that”, he replied, “It's not that I don't want to do that. I simply didn't know. And if it's a procedure that you like we can try it.”  
It wasn't only to wash John's obvious sadness away, it was the truth. He trusted him and if he liked it, why shouldn't Sherlock be appealed to it, too?  
“And yes, if that's what you'd like to do, let's stay in a hotel tonight”, he now placed his hand on John's cheek, “It will all be fine. We'll figure out how to stop Moriarty, so we can be together...”  
Sherlock's voice broke there. He had figured out what they could do to make him leave the shadows. It was hard to control himself and not have one of his outbursts here. Think. He had to think. How exactly could they do it?

John gave Sherlock a gentle and loving smile as he cupped his cheek, the doctor shifting into the touch of Sherlock's gloved hand "I'm glad... Looking forward to the hotel" he muttered before turning his head to gently kiss the palm of Sherlock's hand. "We can stop Moriarty together ... I promise Sherlock... I promise" he muttered quietly before studying his detective carefully for a few moments, a light smile on his lips. "It makes me happy to call you my boyfriend... I just wish I could kiss you right now" he chuckled softly before gently squeezing Sherlock's hand. 

“Not yet, no”, Sherlock replied to John absently while his mind was working and plotting. It was brilliant! This was how they could defeat him. They had to act and not act in the end. Mix fiction and reality.  
“I know how we will do it. And I think you will like what I have in mind”, he continued and watched John's reaction. Sherlock sighed as he saw that his counterpart was disappointed again by him not allowing love or physical contact. And something else? Sherlock didn't know. He had figured out how they could provoke the fight! The solution! Wasn't that worth more than just a kiss now? They could be free to do anything they wanted if it worked out. And they could be soon.

John pouted slightly when the male said that he couldn't, the doctor sighing as he rested his hand against his head, studying Sherlock's face before smirking "hmmmm.... Im going to punish you later" he smirked at him, studying Sherlock carefully before crossing his arms, leaning back into his chair as he watched him "just you wait until tonight.... In the hotel room" he growled before licking his lips "lets hear this plan then" he grinned at him. 

Sherlock looked at John with big eyes when he talked about punishment. He knew what it meant, he had done his research. And although he didn't know what exactly John had in mind, he knew that John would never do anything that would endanger him. So a grin formed on his face as he started to look forward to it.  
“Let's see how good you can do”, he replied, nervous and excited at the same time, “But I doubt you'll be able to focus on my plan. Look how obviously you crave for me.”  
Sherlock smirked as he exposed his John, was this what flirting was like? He hoped it was and not insulting again. The difference was hard to see.

John raised an eyebrow in shock when he listened to the detective flirt with him, his smirk turning into a massive grin and he reached forwards, grabbing Sherlock's shirt and pulling him in close so he could whisper into his ear "if you aren't careful, I will punish you in that bathroom" he growled into his ear before slowly licking along his earlobe. John hummed softly and slowly pulled back, leaning against the back of the chair again "mmm... I will have to get on my military uniform... I know you have gotten it out before... Quite a few times actually" he teased before licking his lips "someone got a military kink?" 

Sherlock breathed in sharply as he heard John's voice next to his ear. Honestly... he wouldn't even mind to vanish to the bathroom for some time.  
He bit his lip when the talk went to John's uniform. It was an image he deeply admired and... and John was aware of it! If he wouldn't use that against him he would be... kinda disappointed. And he did use it! Sherlock was speechless for a few seconds after the words his soldier had spoken.  
“Good deduction, yes. Took you a while, didn't it?”, he managed to reply. He had almost feared that he wouldn't find anything fitting to answer. Firstly because he wasn't used to flirting, secondly because John made him really really nervous. He couldn't focus or think about the important things anymore.

John let out a growl and bit his ear rather Sharply but he didn't break the skin "Dont tempt me soldier or i will have you on this table right now" he smirked before pulling away from him "Well... I think this was a very productive meeting.... But I'm still interested in this plan of yours.... To get Moriarty out of hiding" he muttered quietly before slowly running his fingers through his hair, trying to cool down and calm his racing heart. 

Sherlock had to blink a few times to bring himself back to the situation.  
“Uh, the.. the plan, yes. Yes of course”, he stuttered, trying to focus and blushing under John's obviously amused looks. How did he manage to knock him out of his stride?  
He took a deep breath before he returned to his cold “focused-on-the-mind” self. Where had he stopped thinking? Right, right. Luring Moriarty out of the shadows.  
“It's pretty easy, actually”, Sherlock said in his usual controlled voice, “We have to show him we're a couple.”


	8. Exitement in the restroom

John blinked when Sherlock told him the plan, a smirk growing on his lips and he suddenly leaned forwards, grabbing a hold of Sherlock and pulling him into a deep kiss "Mine..." He muttered against his lips before cupping his face, continuing to kiss the detective for a few moments "Mine" he muttered once more before slowly pulling back "this sounds like a great plan" he muttered 

A smile formed on Sherlock's face: “See? I told you you would like my plan.”  
After another kiss he said: “But we have to wait with it. Right now we're still fighting, remember? I pushed you away after you kissed me. So, neither of us will return to Baker Street tonight because we fear to meet the other one there. He won't wonder why we're not there and we can stay in the hotel without anybody wondering where we could have gone. Then tomorrow I will return and wait for you in the living room, and we will have our reconciliation. We admit our feelings for each other and... well, stage a little show for Moriarty.”

John smirked at him and nodded firmly "That sounds like a brilliant idea" he hummed happily before reaching out, gently taking a hold of his hand and giving it a small squeeze "Thank you... This will be a fun plan" he chuckled quietly before he ran his fingers through his hair with his free hand "So.... are you looking forward to this evening?" He asked curiously before glancing around the cafe, keeping a look out before turning his attention back to Sherlock "mmm tomorrow i will perhaps get my uniform out" he grinned at him 

“Then I'm looking forward to tomorrow”, Sherlock replied mirroring John's grin.   
It was quite interesting how he was focusing only on that one topic anymore. Maybe that was why people missed so many important details? But Sherlock could understand their excitement. He had deeply enjoyed what John and he had shared until now and he expected their future interactions to be even more enjoyable.  
“Maybe we really should disappear into the bathroom, you can't concentrate like this”, Sherlock grinned at John. It was more of a joke, but if this could help his soldier to focus again, he'd do it. It was a weird place for anything in that direction, but it was a place where most people wouldn't expect them to... whatever it would be they'd do. And also Sherlock could feel his excitement rise as John reminded him on the image he had just let go. He bit his lip.

John chuckled happily before pausing as he listened to the male say they should go to the bathroom. John felt his mouth go dry before he glanced away from him "Erm... Are you... Are you Serious?" He asked, cheeks turning a deep shade of red as he thought of the things they could do, able to feel arousal run through him and into his crotch. John growled and took a hold of his hand, a smirk on his lips "Follow me" he smirked at him before tugging him towards the bathroom, eyes hardening as he pulled him along and inside. Once inside, he pushed Sherlock into one of the stalls and instantly locked lips with a hum 

Sherlock was surprised by the intensity John went with, although he had expected it. Still it... turned him on too and once he was being pushed against a wall he couldn't hold himself back and kissed John passionately while running his fingers through his hair again.   
“So, what are you planning, captain?”, Sherlock managed to say breathlessly between their kisses with excitement in his voice. He was definitely enjoying this.

John smirked at him and wrapped his arms around the male, pulling him in closer before pausing as he listened to him speak. John hummed softly and licked his lips "Well... I don't think having sex for the first time in a toilet is such a great idea" he continued, moving in close to lick along the shell of his ear before nipping it "But there are still things i can do to you... Mr holmes" he hissed before pressing his hand against Sherlock's bulge, giving it a gentle squeeze "Fuck... You have no idea what you do to me" he snarled before pulling back, panting heavily as he looked up into his eyes. "You are mine... Always will be mine" 

“Do whatever you think is right... J-j-john”, Sherlock paused and inhaled immediately as the soldier touched him down below. His pants seemed to be tighter and he felt the urge to be even closer to his John. Their eyes met and Sherlock felt a fire inside him that wanted to get out.  
So he pushed John backwards without thinking about it and pressed him against the opposite wall. He fixated him with his body and squeezed his lover's upper leg with one hand, while placing the other one with the backside on his cheek. “As you are mine”, he growled looking down on John and started to kiss him passionately.

John let out a loud squeak of shock as Sherlock suddenly pushed him up against the wall of the cubicle. The male whined loudly as he felt Sherlock's hands on his body before he quickly nodded "Yes, yes im all yours" he moaned before kissing back deeply, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck, allowing the detective total access to his bodt "Fuck... Just wait until tomorrow" he muttered, pulling him in a little closer so that he could grind against Sherlock's hardening bulge with his own, the doctors cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red 

Sherlock giggled in a deep tone by thinking of tomorrow and continued with kissing John's neck this time. He loved to feel the soft skin against his lips and madly enjoyed what they were doing. His hand went through John's hair, rougher than before, but still controlled in a way that he wouldn't get hurt. He loved his soldier's hair. The other hand ran over John's muscles above his shirt.   
“This is blocking my access... let's get rid of it, shall we?”, he moaned in between a few kisses and opened the buttons while he continued his kissing. When finished he went down deeper and started to kiss his soldier's upper body. 

John shuddered and gasped out as the male kissed along his neck, the doctor tilting his head to the side to allow the detective more room. "fuck Sherlock... Hitting all my sensitive spots" he hissed as Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair roughly, letting out a soft moan at the feeling. John reached out to pull the detective in closer, running his hands slowly down Sherlock's sides and pulling at his shirt to untuck it. The doctor let out a whimper of need when Sherlock suggested taking off his shirt, nodding in agreement before shifting into his touch, resting his head back against the wall and panting heavily "Oh god Sherlock" he whispered, feeling his shirt open fully and John quickly wiggled it off his shoulders, standing half naked in front of Sherlock "Teas-" John paused, breath catching in his throat when he heard the bathroom door open, a young male walking in to use the urinals 

Sherlock tried not to breath (which was pretty difficult with regard to the fact that he had just been breathing really hard) and just stared at John. What would they do now? Absolute silence was the only possibility.   
Still it felt weird to be in this position and a grin started to form on his lips. It was ridiculous! Why was it always them to be in these kinds of situations? Sherlock couldn't keep himself from giggling.

John held his breath and covered his face in embarrassment, trying to stay as quiet as he could except it was very very difficult considering Sherlock still had his hands on him and his bulge was pressed into Sherlock's thigh. "S-Sherlock" he whispered when he could hear the man urinating "P-Please stop touching me" he whined, moving into the touch instead of out of It, praying that the detective wouldn't trigger one of his sensitive spots and make the Doctor moan. John breathed slowly in and out through his nose, reaching down to press his hand against his bulge, rubbing it slightly as he tried to get some friction, knowing things could have been far worse if they were undressed or actually... Having sex. 

Sherlock smirked. Why shouldn't he tease John a bit? So he continued touching him and for he knew his soldier's sensitive spots it would be way too easy to have him react to it. He got up again and looked down at John who's face seemed to say “I swear to god Sherlock, if you..” but that made it even more tempting. So Sherlock started to kiss John's neck again and ran his fingers through his hair.

Johns eyes widened as the male loomed over him, recognizing that naughty, mischievous look in his eyes. The doctor gasped in Sharply as Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair and kissed along his neck, the doctor unable to stop himself from letting out a soft moan at the feeling, his heart pounding heavily as he ground himself against Sherlock, reaching forwards to unzip Sherlock's trousers which constricted the package within. 

Sherlock felt very pleased with his work and wanted to continue. This was true excitement.   
Then they heard a cough from outside their stall. The man who had entered!  
“Sorry to interrupt you boys, but I had to interfere before this would become too naughty!”  
Sherlock recognized the voice at once and jumped away from John; the ecstasy vanished from his eyes and made way for the icy fear that took possession of him now. Jim Moriarty!  
And this was not some childish dream... it was reality!  
Sherlock hurried to bring his clothes in the right position again and ran his fingers through his hair in a fruitless attempt to make them look untouched.  
Then he opened the door and went to face Moriarty. He had nothing to hold against him and still... he could put the plan into action now.


	9. Face to face with the spider

John's heart almost jumped out of his mouth when he heard Jim's voice echo within the bathrooms. He instantly removed his hands and looked up at Sherlock, meeting eyes with him and giving him a soft smile of reassurance "It will be okay" he whispered to him alone before he quickly did up his own shirt, being sure to keep the top collar undone so that Moriarty could see the marks Sherlock had left from kissing and nipping his neck. John sorted out his own hair before turning to the door, watching Sherlock open it first and John followed him out, arms crossed as he stood next to his lover, patting his coat pocket briefly to make sure he had his gun 

“So I assume you two are a couple now? That's really sweet, but this bathroom is not too romantic, is it? Couldn't you wait anymore or are you unable to afford anything more romantic?”, Jim grinned with a mischievous smile on his face. He just stood there and turned around when he had heard Sherlock and John step out of their hideout. No weapons, just him in his suit, black as the night and his face pale as death. 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he looked down at the slightly shorter male "Excellent deductions Moriarty" he mocked, stepping slightly closer to John, feeling protective of his solider. He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes "Childish... you know very well we can afford better, but even people like me have urges which cannot... Wait to be solved" he spoke while the doctor next to him began to have redder and redder cheeks. John shifted slightly and shoved his hands into his pockets, studying the criminal carefully for a moment before pulling out his gun "Id advise you to step back Moriarty, for your own safety" he growled, "Hear me?" He asked, cocking his head to the side as he watched him with caution. 

Jim lifted his hands and put on an innocent face “Oh, oh you think this is a threat? I just wanted to pay a visit to my favourite restaurant as I recognized you two. How could I have known that I'd interrupt your sweet tête-à-tête?” 

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he watched the criminal in front of him, clicking his tongue in irritation "We all know that you are lying Moriarty, I can tell from your shoes and creases in your shirt that you planned on following us" he growled before clenching his fists, noticing that the man had stepped towards the pair. John glanced over at Sherlock, watching his new lover carefully before he clenched his fists, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his gun. The male watched the criminal in front of him, raising the gun towards him "Mr Moriarty, I suggest you back off, or I will shoot you." He said firmly. 

“Oh I believe you, Mr. Watson, I do”, Jim purred, “But don't you think I would come in here with an insurance?”  
He moved another step forwards and laughed to himself. “You see, there's always a reason why I'm superior over you. I've got all the aces up my sleeves, and if you kill me, they will turn against you.”

John's eyes narrowed as the male stepped forwards, the doctor flicking the safety off the gun before adjusting his grip slightly "I swear to god, I am not afraid to shoot you, Moriarty" he growled at him, cracking his neck before glancing across to Sherlock who was just watching Jim, completely unsure of what to do. 

“Oh Sherlock, shouldn't you be holding back your pet a bit? He seems to be slightly misbehaving. Interrupting our quick-witted repartee”, he turned to the detective now and approached him, self confident and unpredictable as always.

John cracked and he pulled the trigger, hitting Moriarty in the chest with the bullet. John breathed in sharply as he realized what he had done and he dropped the gun, eyes widening when he realized he had just delivered a fatal shot to Moriarty "Shit.." He breathed, watching the criminal fall down to the floor with a thud. John scrambled to the ground and picked up the gun, holding it tightly in his hands and he stepped forwards, glancing up at Sherlock who had an expression of Shock on his face "John... What have you done?" The detective breathed 

He walked up and down the restroom. They only had a short amount of time until somebody from the restaurant would enter and this scene was pretty clear. It was just an ordinary murder. John was the offender... Maybe this even was what Moriarty had wanted! Being shot, John to be arrested, Sherlock and John separated.  
“Do you have your phone?”, Sherlock asked and simply repeated his question as John asked what he would need it for. “Call Lestrade. Tell him to come here. He'll help us.”  
Then he left the restroom and closed the door behind him. People were already approaching him, but he stopped them by lifting his hand. “Please, stay calm everybody. My partner and I” John had followed him and opened the door just in the right moment, “are from the police. More officers will be here soon. I recommend to leave the building immediately.”

John panted heavily, guiltily enjoying the buzz of adrenaline going through his body. The doctor shook his head and let out a small sigh, shoving the gun back into his pocket before glancing over at Sherlock, reluctantly sending a text to Lestrade before leaning down, pressing his fingers to Moriarty's neck "dead..." He muttered quietly before glancing back at Sherlock, watching him leave the room. John knew he would need to help him out, since Sherlock wasn't all that great at controlling the crowds. John stepped out of the door and nodded at Sherlock, his face and eyes hardening as he watched the crowds, holding up his hands "Get back now. This is a matter of national security and you need to evacuate the building.... NOW" He shouted, using his discipline, military voice. John stepped forwards, intimidating the people as they surrounded the duo "I said, you need to leave." He growled in a low voice "I WILL NOT SAY IT AGAIN" He shouted which caused them to back off and begin to fill out of the building as they could hear sirens in the distance. John smirked and glanced across to Sherlock, a run of adrenaline running through him as he tapped into his military side. 

Sherlock was impressed by how John could make all those people leave. He was great at commanding. But through all the admiration for his soldier Sherlock kept his mind fixed on what was going on.  
Then Lestrade and his colleagues arrived; they entered through the front door. Sherlock didn't pay attention to who else had joined him.  
“What's going on?”, the inspector asked as he watched the last people leave the building.  
“Jim Moriarty. He ambushed us”, Sherlock started to explain, told the story in their favor, “He decoyed us into a trap, set in the restroom and... John shot him in self-defence.”  
Lestrade looked at the two of them in shock but couldn't say a word. He stood a while in thought before he entered the restroom.  
“Uhm, Sherlock?”, he said from inside hesitatingly, “There's nothing here but a small heap of ash...”


	10. Nothing there

John glanced back at Sherlock and Lestrade, giving him a small smile before turning back towards the people around him "GET OUT" He snarled, eyes darkening before stepping forwards threateningly before closing the door behind them. John let out a breath and turned towards Sherlock and lestrade, frowning deeply as he listened to him speak "Greg? What do you mean?" He growled before rushing forwards and stepping inside the bathroom "What do you mean by there being nothing he-" johns eyes widened as he looked down at the floor, just seeing a small pile of ash "What the fuck....?" He snarled, stepping forwards before looking around the room "Where is he?!" 

Sherlock wasn't even able to speak. He looked at the ash, human ash obviously, but it was impossible that it was Jim's burnt body.  
“So, you shot him, yeah?”, Donovan remarked derogatorily, “You sure you didn't just hallucinate?”  
Sherlock could hear John snapping at her, but he didn't listen. Those stupid ordinary people didn't deserve his attention. He kneeled down and observed the heap.   
“Sherlock, there's no body here”, Lestrade said who stood behind him, “What has happened?”  
“Maybe someone burnt Moriarty's corpse”, Anderson suggested and Sherlock sighed in disbelief. Why couldn't people for once just think?  
“The sand-case. The woman found on the ground of the Thames, remember?”  
“You think there is a connection?”, Lestrade asked in wonder.  
“No, it's just coincidence that there were always found heaps of sands and ashes at the crime scenes! Of course there's a connection!”, Sherlock shouted, still not able to figure out what just had happened. The fear and the not-knowing made him furious. Why was there no body? John had checked on the corpses pulse, there had been none. 

John growled when he watched Donovan, clenching his fists before scoffing "I didn't hallucinate..." He breathed, flexing his fingers before glancing across to Sherlock, studying the detective before clicking his tongue in irritation at Anderson's comment "Anderson.. If someone had burnt the body, the smell would be horrific in here. Trust me, i know what a burning corpse smells of" he glared over at him before flexing his fingers, Listening to him mention a previous case. The doctor shrugged his shoulders and slowly walked around the room, glancing up at the ceiling as he tried to see if there had been any way of Moriarty escaping even if he had managed to survive. "I shot him dead.... Even if he had managed to survive, where is the trail of blood?!" He frowned deeply before sighing, turning to look at Sherlock with slightly worried and frustrated eyes. "Why cant he just... Disappear? Stay away from us..?" He groaned in irritation 

“I need to think”, Sherlock said, “Think about all of this. I'm sorry, John, but I need a quite place.”  
He looked at him and felt sorry. He didn't want to leave him behind, but he had to focus, to concentrate. He needed to lock himself up somewhere where people wouldn't distract him. And 221B was not a safe place anymore.   
“Please make sure that they record everything correctly and take a bit of that ash with you so I can look at it more precisely.”  
Then he left the place. He couldn't think here. Ran into one of the waiters who apologized immediately. Walked through the crowd, ignored them. Called a cab and went to a far off building he had visited often enough already. It was a good place to think. Nobody else came here like, ever.   
So he sat down and disappeared in his thoughts, relived the situation.   
He and John had been in that stall... Sherlock took a deep breath so he wouldn't get lost thinking about that. Then they had heard Moriarty's voice, they had stepped outside, and both of them had seen him. Both of them had seen him die. John had checked the pulse, they had gone outside, had called Lestrade, and when they returned the body was gone. A heap of ash instead.  
Ash... it had always been sand before. Except for one time... the ash was there for Sherlock, to get his attention. A little gift for him from Moriarty. What was that other case? The other murder?   
Poison. A woman and a man had been poisoned, and they had killed a third person, a man who had wanted to help them... Sherlock started to be really scared. Was this... Had they... He started to see the connection but he needed more evidence before he would believe in it. Before he'd tell John that he might have killed an innocent man.


	11. Sentiment...

Johns jaw dropped as he watched Sherlock suddenly leave the bathroom. He frowned deeply and crossed his arms, clicking his tongue with a groan of annoyance "Fuck sake Sherlock..." He grumbled once he had left the area. The male glanced over to Lestrade and narrowed his eyes briefly, anger surging through him, hating how Sherlock could just suddenly leave after what had happened between them within the toilet. John took down a few notes, knowing Sherlock would be irritated with him if he didn't do so but he didn't write them as detailed as he usually would. He slowly made his way from the crime scene, nodding goodbye to Greg before heading out into the streets. John shoved his hands into his pockets, breathing in deeply as he focused himself before making his way towards his home... Their home at 221b Baker street. 

Sherlock hadn't moved from the spot where he had sat down. He had thought of all possible scenarios and had most presumably solved the case. But what he had ended up with didn't satisfy him. It frightened him to death. The sky had already turned dark and there he sat, convoluted, shaking.   
When he finally got up he realized that he and John hadn't decided on a hotel to go to. They had been interrupted before they even had the chance to talk about it... But even if they had... Sherlock wasn't really in the mood for... what they had planned to do earlier. Not now. A hug would probably be nice... he didn't know why, but right now he really longed for John to take him in his arms and take care of him. To protect him.   
But Sherlock knew that John couldn't protect him. He was the prey, Moriarty's prize. So it was on Sherlock to protect him. Not to let the feelings in and distract him from the attention he had to pay on everything that would happen.  
Moriarty knew what they were doing. He knew that they had admitted their feelings for each other. He had seen what they had done. How would it simply be possible to win against him? He was a superpower, the storm at the harsh sea and Sherlock and John just a small boat that he wanted to see on the ground of the ocean.  
So... where should Sherlock go now? See John? Who knew how often he'd still be able to. On the other hand he wasn't sure if he could control his emotions anymore. He didn't want to cry in front of him. He didn't want to lose him! And even the thought left him completely heartbroken. So he stood there in deep thought. Calculating. Very well aware that his mind couldn't find a solution for this problem. It was a heart-thing.

John was sat at home, fully aware that it was getting dark and there was no sign of Sherlock. The male let out a small sigh of disappointment, he had been looking forward to their evening together in the hotel, but now, John was sat at home contemplating trying to find his boyfriend. John reached across to his phone and quickly typed in Sherlock's name to find his contact. The male hesitated as he stared at Sherlock's number... What if Sherlock didn't want him? What if he is just being a burden to Sherlock? What if... Sherlock didn't really want him... John shook his head and frowned at his inner voice, trying to ignore these doubts as he pressed the dial button and held it to his ear. John breathed in slowly through his nose, waiting and waiting for Sherlock to pick up the phone, Just wanting to tell his lover to come home... To him. 

Sherlock got a fright when a sudden ringing sound appeared out of nowhere. He couldn't assign it at first, but then figured that it was his phone. A call. He looked at it – John! Actually it had been obvious. Another proof for how the sentiment slowed him down. Should he pick it up? He decided for the yes and wiped his tears away. He didn't want to hurt his love anymore.  
“Hello, John”, Sherlock managed to say and was mad at himself that he couldn't keep his voice from trembling.  
“Me? No, I'm fine. Perfectly fine. How are you?”, he lied, but knew that John wouldn't buy it. 

John let out an obvious breath of annoyance as he heard the shaking in Sherlock's voice. The male ran his fingers through his hair stressfully and slowly closed his eyes "Sherlock... Please don't lie to me" he muttered quietly before standing up slowly "Where are you? I want you to come home Sherlock, to me." He said firmly before reaching for his coat, slowly slipping it on "Tell me the address and i will come in a cab to get you... Sherlock, You cant keep running away from things because you are afraid of.. Showing emotion" he said firmly. "Please Sherlock, I know you are a 'Sociopath' But you have a heart. I can see the emotion in your eyes when we talk... Please come home" he said, tightening his grip on his phone before slowly rubbing at his eyes. "I love you.." He muttered quietly 

Now Sherlock definitely couldn't keep his tears back. Those words that John uttered, wanting for him to come home, knowing him so well. All he wanted was to lean against his chest, be held, and be able to cry. He sobbed and tried that John wouldn't hear it. But he couldn't lie anymore.  
“You're right. I'm just trying to be strong but you know I'm not... I'm a ridiculous man, John, and I... I need you”, he paused a bit before he continued, “I'm at the abandoned factories of Muller. Just a few quarters from Baker Street.”  
“I love you..”  
Emptiness. Sherlock's mind was completely empty. Did... did he just...? Did he hear correctly? No. No it couldn't be. He imagined things. His mind was playing tricks on him again. Or could it be the truth? It was. He hadn't taken anything. He had heard what he had heard. Sherlock had to repeat that in his mind to make it clear. John loved him. He loved him. Love. How could anybody love him? Who cared? John did! Or didn't he? Of course he did, he had just said so. It was impossible for Sherlock to have a clear thought.


	12. An emotional breakdown

Johns eyes widened as he listened to the detective begin to sob down the phone, his heart splitting in half as he slowly closed his eyes "Sherlock... Breathe... Just calm down, everything will be okay i promise" he muttered before nodding firmly "Alright im on my way, i will be about 10 minutes but i will stay on the phone with you love, just stay calm, Im coming for you" he whispered before making his way off down the stairs and out onto the streets, knowing he needed to get to Sherlock as quickly as possible. The male panted heavily and quickly glanced around, spotting a taxi and waving it down "Sherlock, Love, im coming okay? I have just gotten into the taxi... I need you to come outside of the factory so i can find you. I love you" he said once more before resting his head against the glass, knowing it would only take a few minutes for the taxi to get to the factory

Sherlock trembled and could barely move. But John's voice kept him going. He wished that he was here with him now already. This was all too much.  
He wanted to say it back, he really did, but he just couldn't. His lips wouldn't obey. He could barely talk at all and these words, they meant so much. Sherlock truly loved John, he had loved him from the very beginning, although he wouldn't have admitted it back then, but he had.  
At least he managed to move somehow. And made it outside the building.  
“I'm... I'm here John. Outside the factory. And I... I...”, he still didn't know how to say it. John meant the world to him, but still. He had never experienced anything quite like this. Never had anybody even shown interest in him. Everybody had always hated him.  
Sherlock took a deep breath. “Alright, John, what I'm trying to say is that I probably wouldn't even survive this if I didn't have you. You're the only drug I need anymore, you make me strong, and are strong for me when I can't be and I... I have clearly fallen for you. I love you, too.”

The corners of Johns lips slowly curled up into a smile, the doctor slowly closing his eyes as he relaxed against the window "Im glad Sherlock... So glad" he muttered before snapping his eyes open as the taxi came to a stop. John threw the driver a tenner before slipping out from the car "Alright im here, its okay" he said down the phone before rushing forwards, looking around for his lover quickly "Sherlock where are you?" He asked before turning around, seeing the male in the distance, his back turned to John. The doctors eyes softened and he stepped forwards, soon enough breaking out into a sprint as he ran towards the detective "Sherlock!" He shouted before grabbing a hold of the Detective firmly, pulling Sherlocks back flush against his chest before wrapping his arms around him tightly "Im here babe... Im here now" he whispered, slowly turning the detective so he was facing him "Its going to be okay" he smiled

When John finally was there Sherlock just let everything happen. He let John hold him, and when he saw his smile he just... he couldn't help but cry because it wouldn't be okay.  
“Can we please go somewhere safe?”, Sherlock asked, barely with any tone in his voice, “I... need you to hold me now.”  
He knew that he would have to tell John what he had figured out, but he wouldn't do that just now, also because he couldn't. For now he would have to calm down, rest a bit, enjoy being close to his soulmate.

John smiled slightly as he watched the male before his eyes widened as the detective broke down in his arms. He felt an ache in his chest and he pulled him in close, wrapping his arms around him tightly before nodding "Yes Yes, That's fine... We can head back to the flat, it will be much better" he muttered, slowly taking a hold of Sherlock's hand before making his way slowly towards the main road to where a taxi would pick them up "Everything will be okay Sherlock... I promise" he whispered into his ear, gently kissing his cheek before trying to flag down a taxi, keeping his lover in as close as he could, wanting to comfort him.

“Not to the flat, not to Baker street, no!“, Sherlock said in slight panic, “we'd run right towards him!“ He was still shaking and barely able to speak. This state he was in was both things to him: Irritating and useless. It made him extremely mad at himself. But he couldn't help it and sticked close to John, although it made him feel like some stupid child, being with John made him feel safer. So he didn't care. “Please, John, let's go somewhere safe...“  
John turned to face Sherlock, reaching up to cup his cheeks before pulling him down closer. The male studied Sherlock's eyes, searching for any sign of the usual cool, calm detective but he found no such thing. He let out a slow breath, Trying to stay calm himself "Alright... Alright okay, We need to get a car, I know where we can go, but is quite a ride away, is that alright?" He asked him, Studying Sherlocks eyes for a moment before gently smiling at him, Leaning in close before kissing his lips slowly, Running a hand along Sherlock's shoulder before he pulled back "It will be okay... Come on, we need to get a car." He said firmly before tugging him down the street, trying to think of the best way to go about it... They could ask Mycroft? But He was almost positive that Sherlock wouldn't want his brothers help. "Sherlock, do you still have DI Lestrades ID, im going to.. Need to steal a car" he said firmly, glancing over to Sherlock with a Serious look in his eye

Sherlock looked at John in surprise. He'd go this far for him? Break the law with him? It was something really special and Sherlock kind of looked forward to see John going all badass mode again. So he thought about what it was for a moment, then he gave it to John. He was up to something, but Sherlock trusted him completely.

John grinned as Sherlock handed the police ID over, nodding firmly before continuing to pull the detective out of the streets. "Its going to be a long drive" he said, eyes scanning the streets for someone who was parked but in their car. John hummed quietly and pulled out his gun from his back pocket, having spotted a fairly new car parked on the side of the road with the owner sat inside on his phone. John tightened his grip on the gun and used the end of the barrel to tap against the car "POLICE, OPEN THE DOOR" He shouted, pressing Lestrades ID up against the glass so the man could see but he kept the picture hidden with his finger. John smirked, feeling a buzz of excitement run through him as the terrified man got out of the car with his hands raised. "We need to use this car for a very serious matter, Step aside, It will be returned to you shortly" He said, Glancing over at Sherlock, motioning for him to get in and he made sure to keep his gun pointed at the male "Step away sir..." He growled before suddenly jumping into the car and slamming down the accelerator, Quickly driving away from the stunned male who still stood on the side of the road. John grinned, clearly breathing heavily as he threw his gun onto the back seat "Holy..I just stole a car!" He gasped, looking over to Sherlock

Sherlock had followed John and had somehow managed to put a professional look on his face when he had talked to the man. Now he leaned in to the seat and closed his eyes. What John had done was impressive and highly attractive, there was no doubt on that. But Sherlock somehow felt out of character. He couldn't even find himself a reason to laugh because of this ridiculous situation, the adventure and excitement that should have been there. There was only darkness and a fear that seemed to swallow everything else.

John glanced over to the detective and he could see the change in emotion. The doctor let out a small sigh and reached over to him, Gently squeezing his thigh "Everything will be fine, i will keep you safe from Moriarty and whatever is planned.." He muttered, leaning over to Kiss his cheek before turning his attention back to the roads. The male gripped at the steering wheel and he sighed softly "We are going to be driving for a while, is there anywhere you want to go before we get onto the motorway? Get some food, drinks.." He muttered, glancing over to him quickly before smiling slightly "everything will be okay.." He promised

Sherlock shook his head slightly “I'm not really able to eat now“. He wasn't even really able to think. Which was really bad for him. He just closed his eyes; his mind was empty now. He didn't think. He just heard the noises the car made, John's breath, his voice and other sudden sounds that appeared out of nowhere. It was an emptiness that surely wasn't healthy, but it helped him calm down, it made everything seem far away. Sherlock's reflexes would have been really bad if they had been asked to act, it was... peaceful.

John nodded slowly as he listened to him before letting out a slow sigh "Get some rest then... Its going to be a long ride" he whispered, slowly gripping on to the steering wheel of their stolen car before turning off down onto the motorway, Getting out of London as quickly as they could. John had a plan, Somewhere safe they could go... Away from Moriarty. John rubbed his eyes and glanced out the window, Looking at London one last time before pressing down the pedal to speed away.

 

 


	13. The Hideout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter on Amelia Watson has written John instead of Tiffany.

It took about 2 hours to reach John's safe place, which took the form of a small house in a country town. It was situated in a normal street, with normal people who had normal lives, something Sherlock and John didn't posses. Through the darkness of the night, bright lights shone through the clean windows of the house, which, to the relief of John, meant that someone was home. He pulled up into the driveway, and hopped out of the car quickly, Sherlock seemed to follow suite. John was on edge. He was certain that they were safe here, but paranoia still whispered to him at the back of his brain. It was like his mind was working at triple speed, ideas and thoughts branched from one another. He wondered whether this was what Sherlock's mind felt like, constantly crowded and restless. The urge to hold Sherlock was unbearable, he wanted to please him, to calm him and to soothe him. Anything to get him to feel safe from Moriarty, even if it was rough sex or foreplay. At this point, he just wanted to forget about everything. He skipped over to the side door on the house, and knocked gently. In between all of his panic and agitation, there was a slither of hesitance. He hadn't been to this house in years, the people inside had nearly faded away to ghosts in his memory, washed away by life with Sherlock. He felt the presence of the detective behind him. The man was breathing harshly, and although he was silent, John could tell that the alarm bells in his mind palace were blaring. God, how he just wanted to kiss and hold him right there on the brick wall... He turned his head around to talk to him, but as he opened his mouth, the door in front of him opened, and he whipped back around. That little slice of hesitance grew until it was all he could feel. In the door's entrance, stood a young, blonde woman. John let out a shuddered breath, and a silent exchange of words were said between them. She glanced over at Sherlock, before returning her cold eyes to the doctor.  
"Hello Johnny."  
"We can't talk out here, can we come in?" He asked, guilt and pleading in his tone.  
She didn't move.  
"Harry, please."

Sherlock had come out of the car more calm than before. He hadn't slept, but his mind had drifted far away and that had calmed him down in a way. He had been able to think about everything properly while he had banished the thought of the possibility that even this car they were in could have been attacked.   
As they arrived Sherlock hadn't know where John had brought them, but as he saw the woman it was pretty clear. Her blonde hair and her whole face had such a resemblance to his doctor that there was no doubt that this was his sister Harriet. It was quite interesting to finally meet her, as she didn't randomly show up at 221B.   
She seemed to be reserved, although Sherlock couldn't properly interpret the way she was looking at them, but as she was a smart woman (she had to be, she was related to John after all) she realized that John had come to her in an important matter and so she let them in.   
Sherlock couldn't help himself but looked around when they walked inside. It was a nice house, not big, not small, average.   
“So, what have you come here for?”, Harriet asked and Sherlock supposed that it would be John to reply as they surely had some family business to get over with before they would be welcome.  
“And is that...?”, she pointed at the detective now and he knew that she must have watched the news or at least read the newspaper. He rolled his eyes and left the explanation to John. There were much more interesting things to be observed here. Yes, yes, they were hiding, but there surely were lots of secrets to be figured out here, and probably he could even learn more about John.

John waved her question away with an air of tiredness. "I'll tell you in detail after I get some tea, but basically, there is someone watching us back in London, and we need to get away. Don't worry," John started, when he saw the anger in her eyes, "They don't know we're here. You and mum are safe." His reassurances didn't make a big difference to her attitude, but it did enough to switch her anger to reluctance, and keep John and Sherlock welcome in the house. She looked John up and down, her eyebrow arched. Silence. If he stood too close to her, John could smell the lingering scent of alcohol on her, and although she didn't appear to be drunk, John had every suspicion she was. In a way, she resembled Sherlock, who had also mastered the art of pretending to be sober. Of course, Sherlock was properly sober now. She waved her hand dismissively to the room on her left, obviously done with trying to break John. "You know where everything is, don't you?" She asked with a hint of bitterness. Harriet knew that he didn't know where the cups or the tea was, John could tell. She had always liked to play these little games of control and humiliation, even when they were children, she did it, poking fun at him when his friends were around, telling him constantly that he was doing it wrong, things like that. He walked into the kitchen, and almost immediately spotted where Harriet kept her prized collection of alcohols and liquors. Definitely still a drinker then. John thought to himself, if someone lit a match near her when she breathed, she would go up like a firework. Sherlock had stayed in the hallway, observing and deducing God knows what about John's family. His movements were signalled by the creaking in the wood floor made by his footsteps. Please come in here, John thought, let me hold you, let me set your mind at peace, my little tin soldier. Sherlock remained in the hallway. Now that he thought about it, it was probably best to let him do his deductions, take his mind off of things. John stuck to what he did best, making tea, or at least, trying to find the objects he needed to do what he bloody did best. It had taken John 15 minutes to discover where the cups and teabags were, much to the delight of Harriet, who had stood in the second doorway on the other side of the room for the last 5 minutes, smirking, a bottle of red wine held loosely in her grip. Probably empty. The kettle was easy to spot, set down near the sink. The same one that John had last seen in this house. It was a whistler, meaning that it was heated on the stove, and when the water had boiled, it whistled, hence the name. By then, Sherlock had joined John in the room, and had sat down at the table. Seeing that the famous detective was now at her disposal, Harriet took the seat opposite him. No doubt she would try to seduce Sherlock, and despite the current situation John and the detective were in, it still made John eager to see what Sherlock would make of it, and the humiliation Harriet would experience.

Sherlock had wondered what they were doing in the kitchen so long, probably they were talking about the situation, about their past or anything in that direction, things that people were doing. But he couldn't hear any voices. It must have been quite some time that had passed until they had gone there, so he now followed them. What he witnessed then was something that woman would have to be punished for, no matter if she was the one giving them quarter or not. She was humiliating John, there was no doubt to that, and these were the two things that Sherlock hated in most of the world. Humiliation and John being hurt. It made him truly angry and as he sat down opposite of Harriet he finished reading her. Whatever she would say to him, he would have a reply to it.

"So, you're the Sherlock Holmes I see get talked about on the tv?" Harry asked in a low, seductive voice. Her lips were curled into a feline smile, and she bit her bottom lip. John scoffed quietly, earning him a quick glare from her, quick enough to miss. She went back to gazing at Sherlock with fake awe. John noticed that the detective was extremely still, like he was a statue made of stone. He didn't reply to Harry, but despite that, she still remained determined to catch him. Her eyebrows flicked up, and that smile grew larger. "You're a shy one huh? Tell me, are you this quiet in bed?" John inhaled sharply. "Are you ever quiet full stop?" Sherlock replied cooly. She flinched slightly, before edging closer over the table to him. "I can be, if you want." She whispered, licking her lips as she stared at Sherlock's. She leant over even more, and pulled his tie into her slender hands. Sherlock snatched her wrists, and Harriet let out a gasp of surprise. John stopped pretending to make the tea, and snapped around. He knew, that even though Sherlock would never return her actions, he felt jealously rise. "Get out, I need to talk to John." Sherlock growled. She ripped her hands out of his grasp, gave both him and John a glare of rage, and walked swiftly out of the room, coddling her wrists. John watched her go out, and sat down where she was previously. "What the hell was that?" John ordered.


	14. "What are you feeling, my little tin soldier?"

“That?”, Sherlock replied, “Nothing at all. Just trying to figure out what she was up to. You said she was interested in women once, so no need to be jealous, John.”

"I think it was pretty damn obvious what she wanted Sherlock! She was practically jumping into your pants!" John exclaimed, fumbling with his cup of tea.   
"And she still is a lesbian, just to clarify, but that doesn't stop her trying to fuck a celebrity, which you are Sherlock, don't give me that look!" John warned, pointing at the silent scoff on Sherlock's face. "It doesn't help that she can piss me off whilst she's at it too..." 

“John, this is the last thing you have to worry about now”, Sherlock replied in a calm voice and reached out for John's hand, thinking that could calm him, “I just wanted to tease her a little, that's all. You are very well aware of the fact that you are my only interest.”  
He made a pause and thought a moment before he continued: “I'm on your side, don't forget that. Whatever will happen, we'll go through this together.”

John looked into Sherlock's eyes, and turned away with a sigh. "I know, I know. She just..." He chuckled bitterly, wiping his eye tiredly with his palm, "She just hasn't changed at all. She's manipulative and desperate and bitter that I inherit mum's wedding ring. She had her eye on that for years." 

“Hey, listen to me. You know that I can be much worse than that. While she thinks she gets through with this I'll actually be manipulating her. Just trust me, okay?”, Sherlock looked at John and tried to read his mind. He'd always be on his side and he'd never let anything between them. Be it Moriarty or an insane sister. Sherlock would protect his John against everything that could hurt him no matter the cost. 

John gave Sherlock an uneasy look before nodding his head. The kettle behind Sherlock screamed, and John silenced it by screeching out of his seat and pouring out the boiling liquid into the two cups he had placed next to the oven. The teabags that he had found weren't the best, they were Tesco's own brand, but it wasn't really the tea he needed. What he needed, was to feel normal again, and the best way to do that, was to do the most British thing he could do; drink tea. He threw the used teabags into the sink, and told himself he'd deal with it later. As he made his way back to his seat, he put down Sherlock's cup with a small thunk. He settled down into the seat, although his position was tense and rigid, and placed his hands, weaves together, in front of him.   
"What are you feeling, my little tin soldier?" 

“Feeling?”, Sherlock asked in wonder about that question. What did his feelings matter in this situation? Also he had calmed down already which has caused him to barely feel anything at all. His emotions were on pilot flame and he was glad about it. Finally he was in control again.

John nodded his head. "Yeah, I want to know what's going on in your mind palace, all these little feelings you file away, tell me them." 

“Everything?”  
Sherlock knew that it was a lot. He didn't have just had an emotional breakdown for nothing. Where should he even start? 

"Well, not everything, not if you don't want to, but just let me have a preview into your mind, I know that this calmness you have going on isn't real, let me in Sherlock, I think I deserve it."   
John felt anger bubble underneath his skin, although he didn't want to shout at Sherlock, his patience was becoming strained. He was his boyfriend for gods sake, not an interrogator. 

Sherlock took a deep breath. So he would have to talk now. He actually was good at that but talking about feelings?   
“It's complicated, John”, he started, “It's a cocktail of emotions and I can't really sort them all out... it's fear, excitement, helplessness... love.” For this last word he took a break and looked at John.   
“It's... Moriarty. He's been watching us all the time and I know that he wants to hurt you...”  
Tears started to form in his eyes now, “He wants to kill you and John, I couldn't live with that, I couldn't live without you.”

Johns face was grave. He knew that, he knew how much Sherlock cared for him, how he was something for Moriarty to use against Sherlock. What Sherlock maybe didn't know, was that John felt the exact same way, and it hurt him to see Sherlock close off his feelings in fear of appearing weak or afraid of the uncertain future. A future, that could very well be without John, or Sherlock for that matter. But if he was honest, he wouldn't change it for the world, not if that world was one without Sherlock in his life.  
Tears distorted his view and he entered into a blurred world, but he still knew where his detective sat, shroud in black with a strip of blue down the middle.   
"I know." John whispered, " I know he wants to kill me, to hurt me, anything to get to you, but Sherlock I don't give a fuck about Moriarty, the Irish bastard hasn't got a clue how strong we are together, and how much he's underestimated us. If anything ever happened to you Sherlock, I'm telling you, that fucker won't get away alive, neither would I for that matter. I want you to know Sherlock, that if you died, I would quickly follow one way or another. I love you, Sherlock, to the moon and back." 

“No, John, don't say that”, Sherlock said in shock about the words, “You can't die. You have a life here, with or without me, you can't do that...”  
He closed his eyes and didn't even want to think about it... the thought of John's death dragged him right back to the state he had been in before. He started to tremble.  
“See? This is exactly why I shut everything out...”

John felt the heat of anger rise. How come Sherlock could clearly express that he would not be able to live without John, but if John did the same, it causes Sherlock pain? Did he not think that Sherlock's words stabbed him also?   
"How do you thi-" He swallowed down the thought with a sigh, and resorted to acting as a support for Sherlock. Now was not the time to be having a domestic, not when Sherlock was obviously fragile. It was the wrong way around, shouldn't John be the one shaking, after all, it is his blood Moriarty is out for? John sighed, and stood up from his seat before walking over to Sherlock's side. He guided him up from his seat, like a parent with a wobbly toddler. Beneath his touch, he felt Sherlock shake violently, like he was having a fit. He fell into John's arms, and clamped himself around the doctor. "As for me having a life.." he chuckled sadly, "You are my life, think about it, before you, I had PTSD, a psychosomatic limp and lived by myself, with a bloody gun in my desk drawer, whether it was for protection, or for relief, I don't know. That's no life, not really. Sherlock, your my oxygen, like I'm your drug. Without oxygen, we can't live, you have the same effect. But, if the truth of the matter has you to the point of shaking, I truly am sorry, but please don't act like a robot, you are a human being, just like me. Emotions are a part of that, as well as a functioning relationship, I tell you my feelings, you tell me yours. Sherlock, don't shut me out, please don't." 

It was really difficult for Sherlock to understand what John was saying. Hadn't he just told him what he was feeling like? And now he told him to not shut him out... Alright, maybe his choice of words hadn't been the best.   
Those words that John uttered left a longing in him to kiss his Captain, but he held himself back. Maybe now was not the right moment. Instead he clung to his arms and tried to find protection.   
“I probably should tell you what made me feel like... that. What made me lose control. As you're asking to share my thoughts and feelings with you. I just don't want to endanger or scare you more than necessary.”

"I know Sherlock, but remember, I was in a war. My whole day consisted of being scared shitless!" John chuckled quietly, rubbing Sherlock's back consolingly.  
"Just don't give yourself a reason to shut everything out, because I'm included in that 'everything'."

Sherlock was surprised by the truth of those words. “I don't want to shut you out”, he said with strength in his voice, “You are my everything, and without you I'd be nothing... so I'll do anything to keep you at my side.”  
He kept looking at him and wondered if he should start with his explanation as he didn't get an answer to that.

John looked up at Sherlock's face, the hesitance and... Whirlwind of emotions that seemed to sweep across his face, John was beginning to pick up on little markers of what Sherlock was feeling, but only when he felt them strongly. The small crease above his eyebrow from worry, the crinkle under his eye from fear. Both were currently in use. He realised with a pang of guilt that he hadn't really taken in the words Sherlock had used to express his feelings. The one time Sherlock opened up, and he glazed over it to talk about bloody Moriarty and himself. It seemed that his narcissism was so large he was now subconsciously focusing on the subject of himself.   
"Hey," He said, burying his nose into Sherlock's dark curls, "I know you feel scared, to tell you the truth, so do I, but we can't let that fear and feeling of vulnerability make us give up. At this moment, Sherlock, your emotions are a cocktail, yes, but if you leave it long enough, the ingredients might separate from each other. Give it time, that's the best remedy, time and love. And don't worry, I'll be with you to the end of the line, forever." 

Sherlock placed his hand on John's arm trying to give him a little insurance to the fact that this counted for him too. He would never let him go.  
“Thank you, John. I actually don't know what to say...”  
And it was true. John had spoken so well, he had made Sherlock feel... loved and those words... they triggered emotions that he hadn't known he was capable of. Sweet melancholia mixed with happiness.   
John connected his lips with the side of Sherlock's face, and held them there for a second, almost transferring his love to Sherlock through touch. He returned his nose into Sherlock's hair, inhaling the scent. "You don't have to say anything, anything at all." 

This touch came surprisingly. It magically let a smile appear on Sherlock's lips. John's love gave warmth to his heart, and his understanding person was all he needed right now. 

John felt Sherlock smile on his shoulder, and equally found one growing on his face. If he could hold Sherlock even tighter he would, but it seemed however tight he held him, it would never be enough. It was like his heart wanted to connect with Sherlock's, pulling John towards it. John felt a warm love inside his pulling heart, that spread to his fingers, and it told him that they could defeat anything that got in their way, whatever form it came in, they could tackle it.  
They stayed there, in each other's presence and hold, until they were interrupted by the clinking sound of wine bottle on plaster, and the unmistakable clear voice that followed. "I'm sorry to break up this little "moment"," she capitalised the "moment" with air quotation marks, "But dearest mother wants to talk to you, you know, after not seeing you for, what, 8 years now? Hopefully, your little bitch here," She spat, glaring at Sherlock, " Will not misbehave." John fought the urge to enclose her neck with his hands at the derogatory term she had thrown at Sherlock. It seemed that Sherlock sensed this struggle, and tightened his grip around John's arms. John nodded stiffly to Harry, who waltzed away. "God if I was in a room alone with her..." He growled to Sherlock.

“Not worth it”, he whispered to John, then he got up in a controlled manner and held out his hand to help his beloved to get up, too. After that he walked right up to Harriet and grinned at her: “Too bad you'll never know how naughty I can really be.”  
He enjoyed the surprise on her face before he turned around and looked at John to offer him his arm saying: “Shall we?”

John accepted, and failed to suppress the look of sheer glee at the shock on Harry's face. He felt her wide eyes follow them as they walked up the stairs together towards John's mum's room. The door they arrived at was normal like all the other doors, except for the slight crack in its otherwise smooth surface. John lightly rapped on the wood, and a small weak voice asked them to come in. It was at this point that John stopped holding Sherlock's hand, his mum was frail, and it was better to tell her gradually that John was no longer straight, or thought that he was.  
They were greeted by a double bed, which dwarfed the small person in the middle of it. John's mum was almost swallowed by the sheets. Her beady eyes narrowed on Sherlock, not in a mean way, but a wise, observing way. She lifted herself upwards, so that she was sitting up, and folded her thin arms in front of her. After a short bout of silence, a wide smile sent her face into masses of wrinkles. "John! It's been a while since you came to visit, but I don't remember you bringing your little friend here." She said, looking at Sherlock with a sly gleam in her eyes. 

Sherlock kept standing in the door frame. “Good evening, Mrs. Watson”, he said firmly with a nod as she mentioned him, “I'm Sherlock.”  
She looked like an intelligent woman and probably she'd figure out the relationship between him and John on her own. It would be pretty interesting to watch that situation. At the same time he felt John's nervousness and wished that he could have laid his arm around him to make him feel more comfortable. But for now he could do none of the sort as he understood that John didn't have his coming out yet. John himself surely hadn't fully made his peace with it. Sherlock would have sighed but he was in control again now and wouldn't allow himself to do anything that could let him look bad. John's mother should like him.

She inclined her head as acknowledgement, and rested back into the pillows, her energy spent. At least Harry took care of her, even if she didn't for herself. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "So you're this Sherlock Holmes they mention on the box? Hmm... You look taller on the telly."   
John chuckled internally, as Sherlock no doubt was sighing in his mind palace. Nonetheless, he kept up appearances for his mum. 

Sherlock looked at her in surprise, smiled and blushed a little. She knew who he was! Well, it was difficult not to, but this was John's mother and she already knew him. Hopefully she had gotten a good impression on him so far, as the news either presented him as the hero who saved the day or a fraud.   
“I hear that more often than I should, M'am”, he replied and slightly laughed. He didn't want to mention John being short in this case. Who knew if she was sensitive about that?


	15. Concluding that night

"Though, it's probably because of John, bless him, he's got my short height but his father's tall attitude." She laughed, a wheezing sound.   
John laughed quietly also, and shook his head slightly, smiling. He was used to this, his mother wasn't known to be the quiet woman, but rather one who spoke her mind, and cracked jokes like they were eggs.   
"Tell me dears, why have you decided to come and visit this old house? I have a feeling it's not to catch up with Harriet, so indulge an old woman." She said, her blue eyes shining.   
John remembered to bring up the whole "ma'am" thing to Sherlock when they were alone. One cannot simply allow their significant other to call their mother "ma'am" without laughing about it in private.   
John braced himself by taking in a deep breath, and looked at Sherlock, silently begging for him to take over and explain it, the detective stared back, but made no inclination that he was going to speak. Ok then. "W-Well..." John started, averting his gaze to the floor. He wiped his hand with his mouth, what the hell should he say? Well, we're here because a manic psychopath, who I shot and killed, has decided to stalk us and whilst he's at it, kill me, because Sherlock and I are fucking each other in secret and this man, whose Irish by the way, will do anything to make Sherlock's life a living hell, so we, I specifically, decided to come here because I haven't come here in years, so he won't know where we are. Would that cover it? Her eyebrows rose with expectation. "Well...?" She asked, wanting John to continue his unfinished sentence. That woman could strike John with pure fear at times, even when she didn't mean to. 

“We're here to request your help“, Sherlock continued for John who obviously was unable to speak, “As you know who I am I assume that you also know about the danger it can cause. John and I are looking for a safe place to be able to plot in silence.“ 

John closed his eyes in relief, God he was thankful for Sherlock sometimes. Again, his mother raised her eyebrows and leaned forward like an excited child.   
"To plot in silence? Hmm... You won't be getting much of that here with Harry, but you can stay. I do need to know, however, the details of this 'danger', mainly to understand what my son's gotten himself into, but also to add a little thrill to my life." She said, clutching her bedsheets and staring up at John with desperation.   
“John, you have no idea how boring it is here. Harry keeps me cooped up in the house like some sort of rare specimen whilst she goes out every night to some bar to keep herself hydrated with beer and wine. I know she's waiting for me to die, so she can take the house as soon as I stop breathing." She grumbled, glaring away at the sides of her bed. "Too bad, I'm giving the house to my only child who isn't a walking beer bottle." That would be John, and this would be his first time hearing of this news. He blinked in surprise.   
"You're giving me the house?" He asked, pointing to himself, like he was unsure she had gotten the right person. She nodded patiently, a dark look swept past her face. "The only thing she's getting from me is the funeral bill, as far as I'm concerned." She said huffily.   
That will definitely not sit well with Harry, not at all, if she was pissed off about some piece of jewellery, then she will blaze with fury when she found out that John inherited all of the money, heirlooms and the house, especially when he was the one who, as she would say, abandoned them, whereas she was the doting daughter who stayed by her elderly mother's side and nursed her. Which, he supposed, wasn't entirely false. John's eyes fluttered.   
"Why, why give me all of that? I left you, this is the first time I've visited since I left 8 years ago, surely Harry deserves at least half, if not all of the house and belongings?" John asked, his voice becoming urgent and high.   
"You left because it was best for you, it was Harry's fault, may I remind you, that you left. If you hadn't, you wouldn't have had this thrilling new life, you wouldn't have fought for this country, and you most certainly wouldn't have met this fine gentleman standing in front of me." She said, looking over to a Sherlock who gave her an embarrassed nod. "And although Harry says that she stayed here to look after me, she really stayed because she couldn't get on with her life, she couldn't leave, she doesn't even look after me, only the occasional meal and help up the stairs, but I might as well be living on my own." She said, eyes fixed on John.   
"I'm giving you everything because you went out and lived your life, instead of being stuck on one chapter of it and drinking the rest of the novel away. There's a certain point where you've drenched the book so much that the words become unrecognisable, and the pages turn to mush. Harry hit that point when she chose to stay here, but you didn't, you got out. Stay out, John, don't get sucked into this wormhole of normal life, it's dreadfully boring."

John's thoughts probably were fixed on the case of the house, how his mother could give it to him and how he had never visited her in all these years, touched by the loving and praising words that she uttered. Sherlock on the other hand had found another aspect to be quite interesting: The behaviour of John's mother. She loved the adventure as well as her son did, and her using the word 'boring' let Sherlock at least lift an eyebrow.   
This was quite extraordinary, not that he couldn't have guessed it in retrospect, but now it was sure that if he took care and tried not to act like the douchebag he was she could even like him. Maybe he shouldn't speak too much. There was nothing he could say about this topic anyway. It was something between John and his mother, a touching family moment, and if he'd interfere he'd probably ruin it, just like he tended to ruin things. No. He'd stay silent unless he was being asked.

I-I won't..." John stuttered. He felt like a little boy again, being lectured by his mum. He didn't know what else to say, but luckily his answer was enough to make his mum nod with satisfaction. "So," she started, "Tell me everything."   
It took John 10 minutes to explain everything, all the while she sat quietly, nodding every once in a while. She seemed to understand, unlike Harry, and even brightened up from the invasion of her home by John and Sherlock. When John finished, she straightened up. "Well that's a tale and a half. So you two are together?" John nodded, cheeks reddening. "I didn't know you were gay, but I've already got Harry, it doesn't have the same kick of surprise as hers did, but it's still something new, and it seems that you've got an excellent specimen here Johnny." She said, eyes gleaming mischievously. It seemed that all of John's family took a liking to Sherlock, and not entirely in an innocent way.   
John cleared his throat as a signal to get out whilst they still could. He walked over to her bedside and kissed her cheek gently. He felt her smile. He felt like he should be grateful, and happy, but instead he felt guilty. He knew why he felt like that, but he still didn't want to feel that way. When was mum going to tell Harry? John hoped that when she was told, he would be back in London away from the storm that would ensue. Motioning for Sherlock to follow, John walked out of the door, and Sherlock closed it gently after him. They were now in the open hallway, with no idea which room was theirs. Shit. 

Sherlock was highly impressed by John's mother. Well, for an ordinary person. She was smarter than most people, kind in a way, but not that kind of way that was annoying. She had the same warmth surrounding her that John possessed, and that caused him to rate her even higher than his own parents. Not that they had deserved an award for parenting anyway.   
When John didn't continue walking but kept standing in the hallway Sherlock was confused for a moment, but he could puzzle the pieces together. “So, are we going to your old room or do you have to ask Harriet for permission?”

"Do you want to go down and ask her?" John grumbled, fumbling his hand in thought, and frowning. 

“If you'd like me to I can do that”, Sherlock suggested as it surely was a more difficult task for John as it was for him. None of her words could really get to him and he he knew how having a feud with your sibling felt like. 

"It was sarcasm Sherlock." John said, putting his hands on his hips. "But if you're offering, you might as well ask, she might not even talk to you, so be warned."

Sherlock escaped John's arms and started walking down the stairs. He slightly blushed as he hadn't understood the sarcasm and wanted to forget about it as fast as possible.   
“Harriet?”, he asked into the room when he arrived downstairs, “Harriet, you forgot to tell us which room we can use.”

"The 'go fuck yourself' room, it's right next to the 'piss off' Bathroom." She said smiling, and in the process she put her middle finger up on her right hand, obviously still pissed off from the previous incident. 

“Thank you for the information”, Sherlock replied and acted as if he wanted to leave again, “I'm sure your room will suit us perfectly, as you must have heard these words so often it must be where you send us. I'm already excited what little secrets I will find there.”

John heard Harry yelling explicits and threats, and closed his eyes tiresomely. What had Sherlock done now? He dreaded to think. Some part of him told him that Sherlock was unsuccessful in the endeavour to find which room they were to stay in, though he didn't know why(!). He heard footsteps come up the stairs, nimble, light steps. Sherlock quickly became visible as he hopped up energetically. "What the hell did you do?" He groaned, as the yells dissolved into frantic grumbling. 

“We're taking her room. She offered it to us generously!”, Sherlock grinned as he flew up the stairs and came to stand in front of John, still moving up and down in motivation, “Which one is it?”

"Um, last time I remember it was the one opposite to mum's, careful though, there's a couple of steps." John mumbled, leading Sherlock to the room. It was obvious that Harry had not generously given up her room, but John was so tired he couldn't care less. She would have to deal with it in the morning. John felt his feet drag on the carpet, and his eyes were threatening to close by themselves, but he soldiered on. The door opened into a red room, with a messy double bed at the bottom end of the room, and a flung open wardrobe next to the window. Clothes and lingerie were spread all over, like some sort of fashion bomb had exploded in the room. John went to collapse on the strewn bed, only to jump up with a yelp of surprise. Something oblong and hard had started to vibrate underneath him and the sheets. Yep, this was Harry's room alright. John grimaced and mouthed 'oh god' as he gingerly nipped the sheets away, to reveal in all its 12 inch glory, precisely what John had been dreading. He turned to Sherlock and said simply: "We can't stay in this room." 

“Why not?”, Sherlock replied, but understood that this mess surely wouldn't be comfortable in any way. She let all her clothes lie on the floor, who did something like that? Then he added: “It had been a joke anyway. She had told me we should go to the 'fuck yourself room' which I told her would be hers going by the number she has been told to do so already.” Sherlock smirked. “I doubt that she will tell us any good room to sleep. So John, I think you should just pick any, as you know the house better than I do, as I can see you're very tired and could use some sleep. I don't want to have to carry you around in the end.”

John inhaled deeply and put his hand over his mouth; although he loved Sherlock, there really were times when he tested his patience. He was tempted to throttle Sherlock for that last comment, but subdued his anger and blamed it on lack of sleep. Did Sherlock not understand that a bloody dildo had nearly disappeared up his ass? From the way Sherlock spoke, it sounded like he also needed to catch up on sleep. As for what Harry said, it was hardly surprising, she had always been fond of expressing herself through vulgarities, but leave it to Sherlock to take things too far. He exhaled his breath and his eyelids fluttered open. I love him. I love him. I love him. John reminded himself over and over in his head. "Sherlock, the reason we are not staying here, in this room, is because of this." John said, flourishing his hands towards the sex toy he had sat on moments before, still vibrating. 

Sherlock blinked a few times as he tried to understand and finally blushed as he made a guess what that thing would be useful for. He never had had any need to possess anything like it and had stayed out of conversations including the topic, so it was no wonder that he hadn't recognized it immediately. Unlike John. He wondered... no. He didn't want to wonder what John might have done with these kinds of “pleasure-makers” and with whom.  
“Why would that cause us to leave?”, he asked and as he didn't want to sound like a child he added, “I bet there are a lot of things you could do with it.”

"There are, but that one right there." John said, pointing to it, "Has probably been in my sister when she's been horny, and I don't really want to touch something that has done just that." John said quietly in a matter-of-fact tone, conscious that his mother was in the opposite room. "So unless you want to get rid of it by putting your hands on it, and I hope to god you don't, cause if you do, you can count on sleeping in different rooms tonight, I'm going to another room."   
How the hell did Sherlock not know what it was? Yes, John had never used one, didn't need to, but it was well known in the world. It's like not knowing what cross-dressing was, you probably won't do it, but you still know about it. Another thing that baffled him, was how he didn't understand John's disgust, it was a fucking dildo for christ's sake! It was one of these taboo things that you wouldn't bring up on a family Sunday roast. It almost made John feel sick to think that Harry actually owned one of these... Sure, it wasn't wrong, but he didn't want to know about it, much less sit on it! He stood there, waiting for Sherlock's response. 

“I'll come along”, Sherlock said awkwardly, feeling very uncomfortable under those looks that John was giving to him, “As I said before, choosing this room was meant to be a joke and I'll be glad about any other one that you'll pick.”  
He avoided the topic of that... thing on purpose, because he didn't want to disgrace himself any further. John must have thought of him as an idiot already, which made Sherlock furious in a way, because these kinds of things simply had never mattered to him and he hadn't actually thought of the things that John's sister could have done. Why would he? It wasn't of any importance.  
When John got up and continued talking Sherlock simply nodded to show him that he agreed with what he was saying. The situation was awkward enough already. It was quite interesting how these ordinary life problems could let the real danger vanish from minds. 

John couldn't help but feel regretful for making Sherlock feel awkward, he didn't say anything but it was written on his face plain as day. The way he avoided John's eye, the gripping of his hands and the biting of his lips were all signs of an embarrassed Sherlock. It was clear that he didn't like to be embarrassed by his lack of knowledge in the whole sex area, but he needed to know why they couldn't stay in that room. John wanted to hug him and apologise, but at the same time he didn't want to apologise. One thing was certain; he wanted to hold Sherlock, not intimately, but in a completely innocent way, like how elderly couples do. They had been through a lot, and John hadn't felt the reassuring warmth that emanated from Sherlock's bare skin, it was his soother. In the house, there were only 3 bedrooms, so it wasn't rocket science to figure out which one was the spare room, aka John's old one. John opened the room and was greeted with a woosh of dusty air, something Sherlock would find comforting. "Here we are." John sighed, trying to elevate the awkwardness between them. He wondered whether the bed had any covers on it, and luckily for them it did, big thick things that could probably squash you like a slab of Tarmac. He felt Sherlock shuffle in beside him, and the silence indicated that he was either observing his surroundings, or silently expressing his distaste for the room. John turned around to face the detective, who kept his gaze to the floor. His eyebrows knitted together with regret, and he couldn't take it anymore. John wrapped his hands around Sherlock's waist, underneath his warm coat, and pulled himself towards Sherlock, burying his face into his chest. Damn his height.... 

“John, what are you doing?”, Sherlock asked in wonder, although he was happy about being close to him it was kind of surprising, too.   
He had been observing the room before, but it was too dark to really see anything, the lamp that was burning must have been old and it didn't work that well anymore. Still Sherlock could already sense that this room was comfortable. It had belonged to John. How couldn't it be? 

John hastily shot back a step, his affection was not being returned by Sherlock. Why? His cheeks burned, and he looked away. Was this payback for the whole dildo incident? He scratched his neck, something he did when he was uncomfortable, eyes searching for somewhere to look. 

Sherlock grabbed John's wrist: “Where are you going?”  
He didn't understand why he suddenly stopped... it had been nice... Sherlock hat just wanted to know what exactly John had been doing, burying his face into his chest... and his hands around his waist... it had been.. surprising.

"Mm.. I-I don't know I..." John mumbled, eyes focuses on where Sherlock's hand grasped his wrist. Hadn't he just asked what he was doing? That question seemed like he wasn't reciprocating the feeling John had, so why was he suddenly pulling him back? John felt like a child again for the second time that night. His infantile side was telling him to leave the room, to find a safe place in the house alone, away from embarrassment. Sherlock was in the way however, so he stayed in Sherlock's grasp. 

“I'm sorry if I was... difficult again...”, Sherlock said, figuring that he himself might have been the problem – again, “I just... didn't understand.”

"No... No, It's ok, I'm going to bed now, so... Yeah." John said, unsure of what to say. Why didn't Sherlock pull him back? He wanted to hold him desperately, but after that little blip, he was hesitant to do that incase he appeared pathetic. Everything just felt awkward, why did it feel like that? Hopefully it was down to the situation, and the lack of sleep they had. Please pull me back, John thought, I'm sorry for misunderstanding... John turned around to go to the far side of the bed, he always slept on the left side, even when he was alone, he didn't know why, he just... Did. Perhaps it was his brain training him to be ready for when he could share a bed with someone he loved, and now he was. 

Sherlock kept standing in the middle of the room and was very confused. Why did John suddenly interrupt the intimacy?   
Nevertheless he followed John into the bed. He was pretty sure now that he had made a mistake.  
“John... it's not okay.... I want to be close to you, I do. I just wasn't prepared and didn't know what to do... I told you so before... I'm very new to this, I don't know what people usually do. Please don't be mad at me, I want to be close to you...”

John felt a stab of shock hit him, he wasn't mad! He was just... Embarrassed by his obvious need to feel close to Sherlock. "No... I... I'm not mad Sherlock." He said quietly, "I know you're new to this, I forgot, I'm sorry, I'm sorry Sherlock, I'll tell you next time." John said soothingly, not wanting Sherlock to think he was angry at something he couldn't help. 

“Thank you...”, Sherlock said and looked at John, unsure of what to do next. Maybe they really should just sleep and look at things from a different angle tomorrow. But wasn't he supposed to either put an arm around John or lay on his chest? Why were these things so difficult? 

John saw the confusion on Sherlock's face through the muddy darkness, and gently eased himself beside Sherlock, just so they were touching, and if Sherlock felt comfortable, he could put his arm around him or spoon him. It didn't matter if he did or not, John wanted him to feel relaxed and not forced into anything he didn't want to do. "It's ok, my little tin soldier..." John murmured, watching the world through heavy eyelids.

Sherlock smiled as he heard that cute name John chose for him, it was just perfect. By now he felt really sleepy, too and just wanted to close his eyes. This day had taken more of his power than it should have.   
He loved being close to John and as he didn't think about it anymore, he just placed his hand on John's arm, holding him in a way that they were together, but he didn't capture him. He could feel John's warmth and the way his body moved when he breathed. It was wonderful.   
“Goodnight John”, he whispered before he fell asleep, “Thank you for making me feel safe.”


	16. Telling John what happened at the restaurant

John was woken by a sharp rapping on the door, followed by a tired and strained voice. "Wakey wakey, time to get up. I would come in, but I don't really want to have the image of you two screwing like bunnies permanently etched into my mind. God I feel like hell..." She grumbled, her voice dimming as she lumbered away. John was welcomed by a blurry world that gradually focused as his eyes recovered from sleep. It was when he was half awake that he noticed the heat from Sherlock's hand on his arm. He was touching him, actually touching him. It wouldn't seem like a big step to any outsiders, but to Sherlock it was the same as marriage. He didn't want to break the contact, but he needed to look at his face. He squirmed under the sheets until he was facing Sherlock, already awake. The detective stared deep into John's eyes, but he couldn't tell what he was thinking. It was like Sherlock was just... Analysing his features, not in a predatorily or loving way, but like a scientist observing his test subject: full of curiousness and interest. "Morning." John whispered, his voice weak with sleep. 

John was the most interesting, most... beautiful something Sherlock had ever been given the chance to witness. There had never been anything that excited him more than John Watson. He didn't know how he had deserved him, but here he was, sleeping in the same bed, in his arms which fastened the detective's pulse. The way he moved when he breathed and the warmth...  
Then John turned around. Sherlock didn't expect for him to wake up so soon, and already thought that he had woken him up. He wanted to say something but couldn't, John's perfection paralyzed him. His eyes were the most... fascinating. They had the most extraordinary colour, yes, there were many people whose eyes were blue, but John's were... different. They were worth observing, seeing the depth in them, the soul that they were the door to.   
“Morning”, Sherlock returned absentmindedly, still distracted by all the wonderful features of John.

John smiled lazily, and hoped Sherlock didn't see the hint of sadness laced through his face. He didn't want to get up and walk back into the fear and edginess of being hunted. This moment, right there, was what he wanted to have with Sherlock every single morning, but in their own room, their own apartment or house, where no one could force them to run and hide like rabbits from dogs. He knew he had willingly entered this life when he has started to love Sherlock, but it didn't hurt to dream. John felt the embrace of tiredness begin to loosen. He focused on the alarm clock behind Sherlock, and tried to make his eyes read the time. 8 am... They could sneak in a few more minutes. Slowly, John brought up his hand so that Sherlock could see what he was doing, and rested it gingerly on the detective's pale, smooth arm. He looked up to see whether Sherlock was reacting negatively or not, thankfully he wasn't. "Hey, wake up sleepy head." John chuckled quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I'm wide awake”, Sherlock replied, irritated about the contact of his arm and John's hand, but he liked it. He wanted to touch him too in a way, but he had no idea what he should do. He looked at John and tried to think of something, but couldn't figure it out... why were these things so difficult? This situation caught him in a way that he could think of nothing else.

John could see Sherlock was thinking about something, hesitating about something maybe? Was it his hand on his arm? What was it? He wanted to ask him, but he was afraid of something like what happened yesterday occurring again. So, he pretended not to see. "Ok... I'm going to get up now." John replied. He rolled over with a small grunt before getting out of the bed in one fluid move. Because they hadn't brought any other clothes, he had gone to sleep in his shirt and trousers, which resulted in him looking rather bedraggled, but there was nothing he could do about that. 

Sherlock watched John getting up and didn't understand why he suddenly did so. Didn't they just have... a moment? Surely he must have misinterpreted that. He sat up on the bed and watched what John was doing.   
“We should get new clothes”, he suggested, “Are there any stores around here?”  
He liked what John looked like though, it was kind of cute.

"Er.... There used to be an asda nearby, we could see if it's still there?" John suggested, ruffling his hair in the mirror in a hopeless attempt to make it look nice. 

Sherlock nodded as a reply and got up. 

John watched Sherlock as he swiftly put his suit jacket over his arms in one graceful move. He noted how his body twisted, the tug of the shirt on his torso. He felt a sense of pride come over himself at the sight of his boyfriend (if he could be called that) and the comforting thought that he was his, and only his. They really seemed to be an odd couple, but John didn't care. Harry slammed on the door again. "Come on! Hurry the hell up!" She shouted. Someone had a bad hangover then. 

Sherlock was mad at her now. Why was she being like this? It was just annoying. Worse input than that from Anderson, and that was really difficult! He walked to the door, ripped it open and growled at her: "And why do you think we have to do what you want? Firstly: It doesn't make any difference for you how early or late we get up, so why bother? And secondly: This is not your house, it still belongs to your mother who was so kind to let us stay here. So would you excuse us and mind your own business? That would be very kind, thank you." Then he slammed the door behind him and got inside again, adjusting the ends of his sleeves. He took a breath as this had been long necessary and was glad that he finally said it. John most assumingly didn't dare to do so, and so Sherlock would have to take care of protecting him. This kind of protection was so easy compared against the one against Moriarty.

"Oh piss off!" She shrieked back, before her heavy steps stomped down the stairs. John rose his eyebrows, he didn't think it would be that quick before Sherlock lost his temper at Harriet, she must have a gift. "Well that didn't settle well." He simply said, looking at Sherlock adjusting his cuff links aggressively. He had grown used to Harry's perpetual mood, and he only registered it as background noise now, but other people, as Sherlock had shown, are not as adaptable towards her. It always provided John some entertainment though, when they had had enough. 

“I simply don't like people treating you badly, that's all”, Sherlock replied, still staring down at his sleeves. Of course he could have ignored her like he usually did with basically everyone, but this was different, it was personal, it offended John. And he couldn't just let that through. Mess with him? Call him a freak? It hurt, like it would hurt everybody, but it was acceptable. Hurting John on the other hand was inexcusable.

"I know." John said, a hint of protectiveness in his voice. He didn't need protecting all of the time, he was in a bloody war, and in war nobody was treated like they were weak and defenceless. But, John couldn't help a small, tiny part of him enjoying Sherlock defending him. Unfortunately, the majority of his mind had no time for it, but if it pleased Sherlock then he wouldn't mind being the princess rescued by the prince. For the time being, anyway. "But that was meant for both of us, you know?" John added, arching an eyebrow. 

Now he couldn't help but look up and turn his head to John. He wanted to protect him too...   
“John, you know you can't... I mean, it's Moriarty, he'll find us sooner or later! You have no idea what he's able to do... what he has already done.”  
He had to sit down again as he remembered what had happened so far. Jim was both admirable and to be feared.   
John frowned in confusion, what was he on about? He thought this was just about his rude sister, but evidently it was much deeper than that. "Sherlock, I was on about Harry... What are you on about?" He asked cautiously, emphasising the 'you'. 

“If you're thinking this is about your sister you must mistaken this for a family vacation which it's definitely not. The danger is real, John”, as he was saying the last sentence Sherlock's voice started to shake, which he tried to stop as he continued, “We're on the run, not up to mind family business or shopping tours...”

"Yes, you think I don't know that?" John chided, clenching his fist, "But why did you change subject so quickly? I was on about Harry yelling at us, not bloody Moriarty. And what did you mean by 'you know you can't'?" John was thoroughly confused, Sherlock's mood had gone from good to bad in a snap. Honestly, he was a little wary, scared even, of this sudden change. 

Sherlock put his hand in front of his mouth in fear, not knowing how to express himself without making John angrier than he already was.  
“I mean that you can't protect me. Don't look at me like that, it's not about you, I know you're a fantastic fighter and great soldier, I am very aware of that. But what can the strongest soldier do when he's being shot at by a superpower? We can run, but we can't hide. This is only a delay, John. It was a mistake to take you along, it was a mistake to come here. He wants me, and not am I only endangering you now, but your entire family!”

John's heart leapt up into his mouth. Sherlock had somehow read his mind, and what he saw there was the small push on the Boulder to send it flying down the hill. He knew Sherlock was entering a nervous breakdown, and he was helpless against it. Panic rushed in. His face paled. "No, no, don't do that to yourself, don't do this, please! I chose to run with you, I chose to come here, it wasn't a mistake it was me making a choice to stay with the man I love. Sherlock," He said desperately, grasping Sherlock's shaking hands as he knelt down, "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, I know the risks, my mother knows the risks, and we accept them. Please, please, please Sherlock.... Don't do this..." John begged quietly, his eyes wide. 

Sherlock's eyes moved fast trying to catch every movement John made, as he knelt in front of him and held his hands. They were nice and warm unlike his own who must have been cold as ice. He somehow wanted to pull them away so that John wouldn't have to be affected by his coldness, but he was too caught up in enjoying the warmth John gave to him.  
“You don't know what he's done”, Sherlock said after he had swallowed, “I haven't told you yet and I'm afraid I better shouldn't, but I have to, John... He will get us. And we can't escape.”

"What has he done?" John whispered calmly, though his mind was racing with grim and gory possibilities. 

Sherlock stared at John for a while before he could get himself to speak. He didn't want to see him as broken as he himself had been before, he didn't want to let him go through that. But John had asked him to be honest with him, to trust him and to share his thoughts with him. So he would.  
“You remember what happened so far? Prepared Baker Street and the restaurant? Especially the restaurant...”

"The restaurant?" John asked, gently lowering himself next to Sherlock on the bed. 

“Yes, John, the restaurant. Where you thought you had shot Moriarty? The body that disappeared?”, Sherlock wondered if John really wasn't able to remember while his subconscious mind observed that he had sat down next to him.

"Oh yes, I remember, I remember now." John said. That felt like such a long time ago, like he was a different person. 

Sherlock looked at John and tried to understand his behaviour, but gave up as he continued: “He knows everything about us, John. Absolutely everything. He calculates every step we make, and who knows if he doesn't know we're here? It's... he's been playing with us all along. He tricked us and you won't like how...”

Why did Sherlock always have to be cryptic? It only increased John's agitation. "How has he tricked us?" 

He was still hesitating. It was something new. Usually he couldn't wait to tell everybody what he had figured, but this time... there was no fun to it at all.  
“There was the sand case, of which you can't tell me that you don't remember it because it was when I...”, he coughed guiltily, “Made you angry... anyway, that's the connection between these two cases and John, Moriarty left a hint for me so I'd figure out what happened in that restroom. He had given another case to me weeks ago, there had been ash in both as he wanted me to compare them...”

"Yes?" John asked, on edge. 

“It was poison John... somebody had put some kind of poison into our food and...”  
No. Was that? The waiter! Dammit, why hadn't he thought of that earlier?!

John felt his mouth run dry. "So... So it was a hallucination? I didn't kill Moriarty?" He asked breathlessly.  
"O-or shoot him?"

Sherlock had to return from his thoughts before he could reply: “No, you didn't... well, you didn't kill Moriarty, but...”

"But what Sherlock?"  
John felt the cold touch of dread creeping up his neck, he tried to swallow it down.

“You killed an innocent man, John”, Sherlock finally said and felt guilty immediately that he had told him in such a direct way.

John's world froze. An innocent? A-a bystander? He felt a cold stab of shock hit his heart, and the frost spread through his entire body. On the outside, he appeared normal, but his eyes were staring. "Wh-when did you find out..." He asked numbly. 

Sherlock could sense that John was not okay, so he tried to stay as calm as he could.  
“When I was at the abandoned factories...”

John felt rage searing beneath his skin, and he felt himself start to shake. "You mean, you knew, and you didn't tell me?" He asked through gritted teeth.  
He felt tears well up in his eyes, tears of anger and betrayal.  
“What?”  
Sherlock didn't understand. Was John blaming the whole thing on him now? Why? He had only tried to protect him, wasn't that what he was supposed to do?

"You know damn well what I just said..." John growled, a waver of emotion caused it to tremble. 

“Yes but... I... I didn't not do it because I wanted to hurt you or anything... I even tried to tell you but... at first I couldn't because I was so freaked out about the fact how deep he could infect us, and then we were here, and you were so calm and... “

John took in a deep breath in an attempt to overcome the approaching wave of emotion and covered his mouth with his hand. He felt his brow crease, and his chin underneath his hand tremble. He could barely register his surroundings, save for the spot on the floor his vision was focused on, it was like his world had blurred into a fog around him, engulfing him.   
An innocent... There was a part of him that was scoffing at his shock, it was saying: "But you've killed hundreds of innocents in war, why should one more matter?" And truthfully, John saw the logic in that, so he didn't know why he felt like that, why he was so affected.... Was he rusty? Had the remorse he had buried in Afghanistan crawled back out and returned to him? He had a feeling that he wasn't just mourning the one man in the restroom, but all of the people who were 6 foot under thanks to him. It came crashing onto him. 

John had dove into deep thoughts and probably he wouldn't even hear what Sherlock was saying but he had to at least try.  
“I'm sorry...”, he said, several times actually, “John, I should have told you earlier, I'm so sorry...”

John heard the muffled distorted voice of Sherlock beside him, and nodded absent-mindedly, anything to make himself feel normal, or give the expression. He felt cold.... Like the warmth had left him a cadaver, ready for dissection by Mr. J Moriarty, the napoleon of crime. Today's focus: the brain. If you press on this bit here, you can induce fear, pain, and even kickstart a mental breakdown if you're lucky. It seemed that Moriarty had a natural flair for causing all three of them. John had gotten over the first hurdle: shock, and was making a quick journey to the second: realisation. Realisation was like a cancer, it set deep in your body, and ate it's way towards guilt. It turned your bones to ice, hard and brittle, ready for guilt to come along and break them. For John, it bared resemblance to the frog and boiled water experiment. If you place a frog in water, and gradually heat it, the frog's body adapts to the temperature, until ultimately, it boils to death before it realises what was happening. Realisation was growing, heating up like the water. But John was still cold. John was cold, like the man in the bathroom. Only, John was still living. 

Sherlock continued talking, probably his voice could calm John a bit... although he doubted it. He had seen it somewhere before but as he himself who usually was so controlled had gone through hell already, he couldn't even imagine what John was going through especially because he was affected directly.   
“Moriarty has poisoned us, I walked into a waiter when I left the restaurant, and I hadn't noticed it back then but he had watched me leave... it was him to put the poison into our food... When we had gone into the bathroom just anybody had followed us, and he actually had wanted to help. We have only interpreted it as a threat... Do you remember what he said? “Oh, oh you think this is a threat? I just wanted to pay a visit to my favourite restaurant as I recognized you two. How could I have known that I'd interrupt your sweet tête-à-tête?” He really meant that... he wasn't Moriarty and what he said was true... Our heads have turned it into something dangerous... I'm sorry John, I should have known.“

John tried to focus on Sherlock's voice, although he was the last person he wanted to talk to. His words became clearer and distinguishable now, John heard him try to explain and apologise. He began to notice his surroundings again, the window to his left, the wardrobe in front of him. He blinked. It wasn't Sherlock's fault, he had only tried to protect him, from precisely this. But, did that mean that Moriarty had nothing to do with this the entire time? And what happened to the body? He wanted to ask Sherlock these questions, but his mouth refused to work. One thing John wanted desperately, was to have Sherlock pull him closer, and hold him tight, to not let go. "Wh..." He gulped, "Where did the body go?" His voice sounded strange and unattached from his body. He hated it. 

Sherlock looked at John in desperate worry as his voice revealed how broken he really was. He wanted to help him. But what could he do?   
“Well, as the waiter was involved there must have been some kind of special hidden door, an exit that only the staff knows about. Probably he let the body disappear through there.”  
Sherlock lifted a hand as he wanted to comfort John and hesitated as he thought of where exactly to put it. He decided to pat John's shoulder, but soon he let the hand rest there. Poor, poor John.

"The blood though..." John whispered, his voice breaking halfway through. 

"The.. blood? What blood, John?", Sherlock asked and kept his eyes on John. Seeing him in this state was horrible. 

"Exactly."  
He said, slowly looking over to Sherlock "Where was it?"

Sherlock ran the hands over his own face and through his hair. Where was the blood? John had a point. Where was the blood...  
"What if they just cleaned the whole place?"  
"Not enough time.." John muttered, half to himself and half to Sherlock. 

 

"John, listen, he can't have survived...", Sherlock said carefully as he didn't want his companion to drown in illusions and wrong hopes, "I don't know what happened to the blood, not yet, but that doesn't mean that he... he wasn't killed." 

"But you said I did." John said firmly, staring and pointing determinedly at the ground. 

Sherlock held his head with his hands now, trying to focus and express himself clearly. John not being well highly distracted him. "He is dead. You shot him. But it's fine, John. It's... it's not your fault, you know? It was Moriarty. He was pulling the strings, leading your hands. You can't blame yourself for this." 

"I believe it was my own muscles that caused me to pull the trigger." 

"Yes but they weren't led by your own mind, John..." 

John bit his lip before putting his head in his hands. He scratched his eyebrow. "Do you know what poison it was?" He was coming out of his funk now, and his rational mind was returning. He was calming down. 

"Not yet, that's why I asked you to take notes when you were still at the crime scene", Sherlock replied and placed his hand on John's shoulder. 

"How the fuck was that meant to help find the poison?" John asked, his voice raising. 

The substances could have still been there somewhere." 

"And I was meant to sniff them out like a blind bloodhound? What was the point if me searching for something without even knowing I was doing that? Huh?" 

"I didn't say that. There were a bunch of people around who know about these things. They're not as good as me, but they're not bad, and they could have told you." 

"Why, because I'm only your helper?" John muttered bitterly.  
He knew he didn't mean it, and the sting of guilt lingered in his chest, but he felt like he deserved to act like a brat. All these things Sherlock had chosen not to tell him about...

"No, because you're my only helper, John", Sherlock said bitterly, and he knew he wasn't in the right to be mad at him, but the way he acted made him angry, " You're the only one who ever chose to stay at my side, and when I ask you to do these kinds of things of me it's not because I see you as somebody who works for me, but because you're the only one I fully trust."

"If you fully trust me, Sherlock, then you would have told me to look for signs of poison!"

"I didn't know back then what you had to look out for!"

John wiped his face with his hands. "You literally just said a few minutes ago, when I asked you what the poison was, that that was the reason why I was taking notes, did you not?" He asked slowly, mockingly.

Sherlock had to work hard not to seem annoyed, which he was in a way. Why did John have to make it so difficult for him? "I said that I wanted to figure what the poison was by the notes you've taken. You took notes and I could search them for useful information."

"Ok. Glad we finally got there." John said, resting his hands on his knees with a flourish.  
He felt a pit of guilt and embarrassment open up in his stomach

"So...", Sherlock said as he didn't know what else to say.

"So," he sighed, head resting on his palm, he chuckled quietly and wiped his face again, "So I don't know," he furrowed his eyebrow and wetted his lips with his tongue, "I don't know what to do with myself. I just found out I bloody killed someone, and then I unleashed a whole armada against you for no apparent reason because I felt I needed it to fuel my ever growing narcissism. And Harry's been bringing back an onslaught of settled guilt that's been eating away at me for 8 years. So..." He searched his brain to see if there was anything else he needed to say, he didn't find anything, "Yeah. That's it."

Sherlock looked down on the floor as he didn't know what to say to that. These social situations had never required his attention, and suddenly he had to be careful with his words, because he cared if he hurt the person he was talking to. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier", he said, thinking that an apology could be the right choice, "Do you, um, want a hug or anything?"

John looked deep into Sherlock's eyes and gently nodded, moving into Sherlock's side.

Sherlock looked down on John lovingly as he leaned against him and decided to put an arm around him. This must have been the right thing to do, as Sherlock had wished for the same thing earlier. So he held John now and hoped that it would make him feel better.

John felt a tidal wave of emotion crash down on him, everything he was keeping inside had burst their container, and before he knew it, the shudders of an approaching sob started to take ahold of his body. He felt tears spring up and run down his cheeks in steady streams. He couldn't stop them, part of him didn't want to. They were better out than in. The warm presence of Sherlock acted as a shelter for John, and he wrapped his arms around the detective as if he were holding on for dear life. Like an upset child, he buried his face away from the world into Sherlock's suit where it was black and peaceful. He still heard his muffled sobs in his ears, but at least he didn't have to feel ashamed at crying in the open, where Sherlock could see his face.

He thought he had control of it, that he had his head above the water, but it seemed that Sherlock's attempt to soothe John had finally pushed it under, but in a good way. The detective was his lighthouse, warding away any rocks lurking in the deep sea, threatening to sink him.

Sherlock got a slight fright as John started to cry. In the first second he had thought that he has made a mistake, but John was holding on to him so tight that this couldn't be the case. Sherlock slowly started to run his hand over John's back and whispered: "It will be fine. I'm here." This situation affected him in two ways. The first one was the pain. John's sadness reached his own heart and let it hurt, and he wished he could have stopped him and made him feel better. Maybe this hug thing could help with it? The second way was some strange kind of happiness and Sherlock was slightly mad at himself that he could feel this way in this situation. But John being so close to him was nice, being there for him as well, and most of all: John trusted him. Sherlock had never been so sure of it as in this exact moment. He was crying in his arms, letting himself be weak, and he shared all this with Sherlock. He wasn't hiding himself away anymore. And knowing that made his heart jump of joy.

Sherlock's hand across his back sent ripples of calmness across John, and although they had no immediate affect, he certainly knew they helped. His deep hushed voice was like a lullaby, softly rocking away his tears and replacing it with warmth. Sherlock's sharp jaw rested on John's head, his soft breaths swept through his hair in slow, equal releases. John tightened his hold around Sherlock, to make sure that he never left. He wasn't pulling away this time. John didn't feel his usually tense posture or the slight resistance he seemed to always acquire when John had touched him, it was like he knew that John needed this. After all, he was a genius, and a detective. His detective, not Harry's, not Scotland Yard's, but Dr. John Watson's.   
They held each other for thirty minutes, enough time for John's tears to stop flowing, and a replacement headache to take over. His cheeks still felt moist. Sherlock had remained within John's grasp, whether he was only tolerating it or also enjoying it, John didn't know, but either way he was grateful. It was a big step for Sherlock to allow John to hold him for this long, a big step in such a short time. His hands loosened from their hold on Sherlock's waist and he moved his head away from the darkness, and into the blinding light that took him a few seconds to adjust to. He rested it on the left hand of his chest, where it fit snugly into the slight dip. The humidity was swiped away by fresh air and it blew across his damp cheeks. Instead of looking at Sherlock, he stared diagonally across to the door, thinking quietly about everything. What was Sherlock thinking? He bet that he was regretting his choice to love the doctor, choosing a partner with so much emotional baggage and unexpected fits of sobbing. Sherlock would definitely benefit from finding a better love, a more compatible match. That didn't, or wouldn't, stop John from loving him though, not even if the world's fate decided upon it. He would still hold a place for him in his heart as the world fell to ruin. That, is love.


	17. Plotting... again.

Sherlock watched John attentively. His tears slowly became less and less and his body seemed to calm as well. Seeing this burst of emotions on his love hurt the detective, he knew that by now as he had observed his own emotions during the last minutes, but it didn't let him think bad of him. He was just sorry that this was his fault in a way, and John being able to show emotions was part of why he loved him. He was, and Sherlock didn't know a better word for it, "alive". Not as cold as ice, but highly emotional, be it anger, sadness or joy. John had all those emotions in him and the way he showed them was not only interesting, it was also heartwarming. 

"We should go downstairs." John said calmly, although he made not attempt to remove himself from Sherlock's side. 

“We should“, Sherlock agreed and almost whispered the words into John's hair, but he didn't move either. This moment was calm, it assured a safety he barely had known and he didn't want to leave that for anything in the world. If the choice had been Sherlock's he would have stayed like this forever. 

John felt Sherlock's warm breath gently sweep through his hair. He loved it, and he craved more. There was something about it that made him feel at home (which was ironic considering he was in his old home). He inhaled Sherlock's smell, the faint remnants of his cologne he had applied yesterday still lingered on his suit, and pressed his nose against the blazer. He took another deep breath. How he adored it. He blinked slowly, watching as his vision narrowed with the gradual shutting of his eyelids. The world was quiet for once, and John treasured it. Beneath him, Sherlock's chest rose and fell with each intake of breath. He felt his own breathing synchronize. Why did they have to go? 

John moved his head upwards slightly to look at his detective.  
"Have you ever killed someone Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at John in surprise about this sudden question. It was something... personal, something... he had tried to erase from his mind and had never completely managed to. "I have...", he admitted silently and hoped that it would at least help John to feel not as alone.

John moved his head back down, registering what Sherlock had said.  
"What did it feel like?"

Sherlock had to think a moment about the words he would choose to make John understand: "It was... like nothing and everything at the same time, relief, pain, excitement, power and fear..."

John's eyebrows flicked up.  
"Relief?"

Sherlock sighed: "Yes, because I freed myself and Mycroft from a threat but that's not important now..."

John sensed that by the way Sherlock was speaking, it was not a topic best to talk about at that time, and resigned himself back to quietness. He made a mental note to discuss it with Sherlock after this whole thing had blown over, if it was ever going to. One thing John was certain that he wanted to do, was find out about Sherlock's past. He'd only glazed over his past drug problem before, and that was the only glimpse of Sherlock's younger years John had ever got. Was there something there that made him feel unable to reminisce? John became worried, and intrigued about his boyfriend. Mysteriousness loses it's novelty after a while, and in Sherlock's case, it had been lost for years.  
Sherlock felt rigid, probably due to sitting up without back support for over half an hour. It must be uncomfortable...Maybe, if John applied gentle pressure on his chest, he might fall back onto the bed, where John could hold him better and his back wouldn't ache as much.... Then again, he didn't want Sherlock to become agitated or to freeze up. This act of kindness was not without it's cautions, anything could make Sherlock feel pressurised or anxious. He was like a 6 foot bomb, albeit an extremely handsome and gentle one. He was in a delicate state, not in a weak or emotional way, but in a way that he was testing the waters on touching John affectionately. Sherlock was watching the ripples cautiously from the windows of his mind palace, John knew he was there at the moment. The way he looked into nowhere, the slight loosening of his arm around John. These were signs that he wasn't fully in the real world. John understood, and was happy that he at least felt comfortable to be the first one to engage in contact willingly. It was small steps, small steps...

John's question had pulled Sherlock deep down into a box of memories that he had buried under numberless other boxes, he had hidden them away and this question had pushed all of them away, until he could freely fall into old videos and photographs. Mycroft, Redbeard and him playing pirate, and a silhoutte in the background, a voice "An east wind is coming, Sherlock!" and a hit that let him wince. He shook his head really fast to the side before he looked at John again. John was all that mattered. Not the past. Never the past. The present. John. John. John.

John felt Sherlock shaking his head vigorously, and shifted so he could see him. He was frowning, and looked to be in some sort of pain. John's eyebrows knitted together in concern.  
"Sherlock...?"

“John...“, Sherlock said and forced himself to keep those thoughts away. John was safety, John was kind, John was now, the past was in the past.

"Are you ok?"

“Well... Kind of. I just have to distract myself“, he replied as he remembered that he had promised John to be honest with him from now on.

"From memories." John said, nodding in understanding.  
It was not a pleasant thing, having flashbacks to memories situated in the darkest parts of your mind where you never venture into. John knew full well of those nightmares, hello, a former PTSD sufferer here! He felt them lurk and glide past every now and again, he knew the feeling of unprecedented terror as they grew and threatened to pierce their cell, he knew it all.

“Yes“, Sherlock replied and looked at John, looked at him carefully, observed his features to kill the horror with beauty.

John nodded again and swallowed.  
"I'm sorry."

“you're the last one who has to be. You gifted me the few wonderful memories I have...“

"But still, I know what it's like to have those memories, memories that should stay in the deepest parts of your mind, away from light. You don't need me prodding and poking around them, and you certainly don't need them to burst out at the moment."

Sherlock nodded: “I need to focus. Okay, shall we go?“

John blew out his breath.  
"Out of the oven and into Harry's fire." He sighed, swinging himself out of Sherlock's hold and up on his two feet.

The detective got up slowly behind him with a slight groan, and they walked downstairs, fully aware of the hospitality they were going to receive from Harriet.  
They found her sprawled out on the couch, with a playboy adult channel blaring on the tv. She didn't seem into it however, and she watched it with disinterest in her eyes, hand tucked underneath her head. Their footsteps were loud against the aged wood of the stairs, so there was no doubt she had heard them coming down. She had elected to use her iconic strategy of completely ignoring them, although John didn't know what she thought she would get out of this. It was obvious Sherlock didn't care for her antics or personality, and she knew after years of using this tactic, that it had no effect on John, who was actually relieved to not be receiving an earful of her screaming and swearing, but the tv seemed to be on to make up for the loss of her voice. John turned slightly to Sherlock.  
"Well, do you want any tea then?"

"Yes, thank you. We should sit down and discuss what we're going to do next..." After Sherlock had finished his sentence he walked into the kitchen. Just away from Harriet and her tv. The channel made him nervous. He got out a few cups already and heard how John started to boil the water.

Sit and discuss what we should do next... Those words sparked dread in John, but something else to, excitement, maybe? The thrill of going back into battle, it seemed to be a terrible thing to get your blood pumping with, but John couldn't help it. He set the kettle on the stove and turned on the gas before moving to lean against the sink side. He watched as Sherlock took the seat facing him on the opposite side of the table.   
His cheeks seemed hollower than usual, the shadow beneath them had grown in size and deepened in shade. And his already spindly fingers had become more dipped where the bone curved in...John hoped he was eating properly. He pushed back the gravid thought to the back of his mind. It was nonsense... Sherlock was eating just fine, he must be. John hoped his concern didn't show on his face, and gave a small smile to Sherlock, who replied back with his own smile.   
It was like a mutual agreement, that they would only start discussion after they had readied themselves with a cup of tea. Both of them knew it was coming, but just for a few more minutes they could be the new couple starting to learn about one another in quiet harmony.   
"I love you." John said quietly, holding Sherlock's gaze.

The detective took his boyfriend's hands on the table. "And I love you", he replied, wanting to say so much more, wanting to express all those feeling he had because of John, but all he said was this sentence. They were only three words but still they meant so much.

John smiled affectionately, and rubbed his thumb against Sherlock's smooth hand.   
The screaming of the kettle sliced through their moment, and signalled the start of strategising their attack, or defence, against Moriarty. John slowly poured out the boiling water into the two cups, stirred around the tea bags, and threw them next to their forgotten kin that had been sitting there since last night. He put Sherlock's on the table immediately after quickly throwing in two teaspoons of sugar.   
He liked it black with two sugars, always has, always will. John, however, was more of a lightweight, and preferred his tea with milk and 4 sugars.   
He sat down with a 'humph' and settled his cup down on the covered table with a solid thump. He looked up at Sherlock. The detective hadn't got much sleep last night, that much was evident from the bags developing under his eyes. He would've been worrying. That was one of his specialties, worrying. And it was John's job to worry about HIM.  
John lifted his chin up slightly and wetted his lips, his shoulders set back. Determination set in. Fear flowed out. He felt his soldier side kick in, and he was awaiting his commander to discuss their tactics. Pride blossomed in his heart. His commander. His little tin soldier more like.   
He cleared his throat as an indicator that he was ready to report for duty, sir.

Sherlock took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. If he was being honest he had only a few facts, he only knew what they couldn't do, but an actual plan... he was not the writer, the storyteller. This was also the mistake Donovan had made when she had accused him of becoming a murderer one day. Sherlock was good at solving riddles, not creating them. And so making up a tactic would be really difficult as well. "Well, we can't shoot him, the last try proved that", Sherlock started, looking at John as he realized his words and worried that they still affected him.

"Why not? He's not made of smoke and mirrors, somewhere there is a man sitting with a solid body, and a mortal life that could easily be ended with a bullet to the head. He can be shot, the only question is how do we draw him out of hiding?" John said, his face like iron.

"We would have to think faster than him. Know what he'll do next, before he can do it, and be at his hiding place while he's still there to watch us", the detective replied, thinking about what those steps could be. But without anything to go by the details were way too vague.

"We need to make him come out, make him want to play. What if, we just continue to live in Baker Street as we normally do, make him think we aren't affected by his mind tricks? Yes, I know Sherlock," John said, looking at the fear on Sherlock's face, "I know it will be dangerous, very dangerous, but if we are together constantly in the apartment then there is no way of him getting me without you witnessing it or being able to stop it. If you did see it, you could follow them or at least deduce what you can, because we both know it sure as hell won't be Moriarty doing the dirty work."

"I don't want you to get hurt", Sherlock almost whispered as he couldn't stand even the thought of John getting injured, "There is no guarantee that they won't harm you, may I be there or not..." Sherlock looked at John and felt once more how he made him weak. He had never cared about his own life, endangering it was part of the game, but John? This was different from before. With John at his side it wasn't a game anymore, this was a threat, it was war. "Although I see the point of your plan. Remember, I had one close to that before." He saw that it was the possibility that made sense the most, still it had weak spots, just like Sherlock had now, and if he could he would have eliminated them.

John nodded his head   
"I know, but maybe we should actually use it, i mean, can you think of anything else?"

"I could, but I guess that this is the best option...", Sherlock said and looked at John intensely. He tried to convince himself that they were strong enough. Dammit, they had gone through so much already, they had escaped death, both of them, John in war and Sherlock during his past, they had survived, they were strong. They had been. But were they still? It didn't seem like it. Love really made people weak. The whole way they were talking now, taking care of their opponent. It was like they had lost their edge, they lost their bite.

John saw Sherlock's hesitance, and eased up. "Ok, do you want to have time to think of a better plan? I know you're not keen of my idea, and I'm not overly fond of it either. I just can't think of any plan that doesn't involve one of us or one of our loved one's being in danger." 

"Okay, John, everything has gone through my mind already so many times. We could try to find him directly, attack him, use the element of surprise, we could use his tricks and weaknesses against him, but I don't know. Is an attack really the best option? Because going into defense is only procrastination...." 

John frowned slightly.  
"Defence isn't always procrastination, but I guess it isn't always the most effective way of winning the battle. How would we go about, trying to find him without Moriarty realising our plan?"

“Well, we'd have to work in the shadows, found alliances, work without technics... do anything so he doesn't find out what we're doing, but we'll know everything about him.“ 

John leant back on his chair and took a sip of his tea.

"That means we need some very dark shadows, and a very secluded living space.... How do we find any- AAAH!" John was cut off by an agonising pain slicing through his brain.

He slammed his cup down and held his ears in an attempt to mute the pain and ringing in his head. It felt like something had cut through his brain, like a bullet. In desperation, he clamped shut his eyes and hunched over himself, begging the pain to go away. He was hanging off of the chair, and he fell off, slamming his legs onto the stone floor. It was overtaken by the agony in his head. Sherlock! Where was Sherlock?! He exclaimed in pain and lowered his head to his knees. Air pumped in and out of his lungs frantically.


	18. Death is only a heartbeat away

"John!", Sherlock shouted as he heard him scream and wince. What was happening? He tried to figure what it was but couldn't, tried to talk to John to know what. it. was. John held his head, an apoplexy? No, he hadn't shown any sign for that before. This... no. No! Then John fell of his chair. "JOHN!", Sherlock could only scream and fell down to his knees next to him, "John, what's going on?! For god's sake, John! Tell me! Talk to me! John!" He was very well aware that John couldn't talk now, but he was helpless. Sherlock wasn't a doctor, he didn't know what to do! He made attempts to help John, to touch him, but he knew that nothing he'd do could work. "HELP!", he screamt through the house, unable to leave John's side.

The pain... God, The pain was unbearable, it was like his skull was being split in half! It filled his entire head, and made it impossible think about anything else. Claws were scaring his mind, clenching down on his brain. He could hear his heartbeat smash around his mind, the thudding only worsened the pain. What was this?! Make it stop! He tried to open his eyes, but the light was blinding and felt like it was frying his corneas. Black spots had swarmed his vision. In the short time he had them open however, he could see a black Sherlock-shaped blot next to him in his vision. Sherlock! He swatted his arms around to try and find the solid side of Sherlock. The pain grew with each moment his head didn't have anything pressed against it. Soon, a pressure built up in his face. He let out a broken sob. From somewhere near him, he could hear Sherlock's greatly muffled voice, panicked and loud. The ringing blocked most of it out, it drilled into his head. Make it stop!  
Fear spread on top of his pain.  
Was he dying?! An aneurysm, an undetected brain tumour pressing?! He wanted Sherlock! His arms only grasped air, and he returned his palms to his temples in desperation to halt the mind-numbing pain.  
Help me!  
"Sher-!" He cried, unable to finish his name.  
The pain, the noise, everything, he begged it to go away. God, please! He curled up on the floor and buried his head to his knees. Just make it stop! Kill him, make him unconscious, just anything! His teeth sang. The pain was somehow increasing, John was bordering on blacking out.  
This is it.  
I'm dying.  
I'm dying!  
He screamed.  
Then, the pain stopped its onslaught against him. John's tense and coiled body relaxed. Relief. Beside the sides of his head, he felt his hands shaking, along with his entire body. What the fuck was that?! He was so scared.. He... It was terrifying. His panting eased up slightly and shuddered. Tears fell down his face and he curled up tighter. It was gone. Whatever it was in the first place.  
What if it could happen again? What if... What if it was Moriarty somehow?  
He didn't dare open his eyes, in case the light still hurt them, or in case he couldn't see anything ever again. Darkness was his comfort, his safety. Sherlock... He was there, John knew he wouldn't leave him. His heart hammered.

Sherlock still knelled next to John when he stopped wincing. His first thought was that this was his end.. which he wouldn't accept just like that. But John was still breathing. He was breathing. Breathing meant: Alive. "John...", Sherlock said and pulled him closer to him, pulled him on his lap and held him tight. It was only when a tear fell down on John that he realized that he was crying.

"Sherlock.." John whispered, his voice breaking, "I was so scared... it was so-so painful.."  
"Shh... sh...", Sherlock said as he leaned down to John to hold him closer, "Relax, calm yourself..." He knew that this wasn't helpful, but what could he have said that was? He carefully stroked John's back, he didn't dare to reach out and do that to his head.

John hated how he wasn't in control of his body's violent tremors, or the fact that he had almost blacked out, he could've even died. The unknown and unexpected terrified him to the core. Death is only a heartbeat away, a seconds space between living and nothing but a corpse.  
He let out a wracking sob and pursed his lips closed. Where pain had once raged within his head, only lightness and dizziness lay within. John inched his eyes open and looked up at where he thought Sherlock's face to be. He could've collapsed with relief as his world focused and beans coloured. Yes, he was still dizzy, and his vision was a bit blurred, but it was better than being blind. The birds outside sang without a care, oblivious to the brush of death John had just experienced. John gripped onto Sherlock's shirt and pulled him closer so he could rest his head against Sherlock's warm body.

"You can't do this to me. You have to stay with me", Sherlock cried as he was scared like he had barely been before, this could have killed John! It could have killed him... He had closed his eyes by now and laid his head on John, focusing only on that wonderful breathing that signaled him that the love of is life was still alive.

"What the he-" Harry came storming through, annoyed that her program had been disrupted, but upon seeing John in Sherlock's arms on the floor, she was cut short.  
She took a visible gulp, and remained hovering in the door frame. "What the fuck happened to John?"

Sherlock didn't look up, he stuck as close to John as possible for he was in a constant fear that if he let go of him for even a mere second he could be stolen from him. "He had some huge pain in his head...", Sherlock answered to her but was careful that he didn't speak too loudly so it would hurt John.

At once, Harry's eyes lost all of their concern, and she turned in the doorway, flicking her gaze over John with an air of disinterest. She waltzed back into the living room, saying over her shoulder. "All of that noise, just for some headache? Just take some goddamn aspirin instead of giving everyone else a sore head."

It was in this moment that Sherlock knitted his brows in an angry way and lifted his view. She didn't even finish her sentence, her blabing, when he had laid John on the floor carefully and rushed to the living room. He saw Harriet there, that stupid grin on her face, she just let herself fall on the sofa. Sherlock pulled her up again before she had even sat down and pinned her against a wall. "John almost died and that's all you've got to say about it?!", Sherlock pressed through his teeth fiercely.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, pulling her lips back into a hiss.  
"Oh so what?! Do you think I care? After all, he inherits fucking everything in THIS GODDAMN FAMILY ANYWAY!" She screamed, spitting in his face.

He punched her in the face and pushed her on the floor. This was enough. Leaving women alone or not, honour or whatever, she had none of that. "HE IS BETTER THAN YOU'LL EVER BE!", Sherlock shouted as he attempted to hit her again, "You should care, for look at what you are! A goddamn fucking whore, laying on the couch all day with her vulgar programs and her alcohol! He cares about people, and you just are a dirty piece of shit. If he didn't care about you I swear, I'd do so much worse!"

"Like what, gay boy? You'll kill me? Huh?" He asked, getting in Sherlock's face, "Go on, try me, I promise I'll bite!" She said, and with that, she sank her canines deep into Sherlock's hand that was keeping her down.

"Ow!", he shouted and pulled back his hand but didn't let her get up. "You want a fight? You'll get one!", he said and pulled on her hair, "By the way your insult is interesting, gay girl!"

She screamed and clawed at Sherlock's face with her nails, cat-style. He continued to pull harshly on her long hair, even ripping out some blonde strands. Her scalp felt like it was on fire, but she wouldn't give up. A mixture of stubbornness and the help of a easily-pressurised mother made a deadly result. This son of a bitch detective was nothing compared to the fights she had gotten into at pubs and clubs. She would make sure he came out with scars.  
"At least I'm not some sort of fake genius prick like you! I just show who I am, instead of hiding it underneath layers of bullshit!" She shouted.  
Although he had her arms pinned, the lower part of her body was free to some extent to move. This gave her room to hurt him, to fight back. Sherlock was too focused on her face to see her leg pull back, and it was only when she made contact with his groin that he realised it was there.  
Meanwhile, John lay on the stone cold floor, hearing the fight emanate from the living room. His head still ached, and his joints felt like jelly. There was no way he could stand up. Their screaming hurt his ears, and he blocked them with his hands. Had Harry really meant that she didn't care if he died? He felt a sharp pain of sadness pierce his heart as he realised, she more than likely did. He slumped his head against the floor, the cold reviving him somewhat, and lay alone.

Sherlock tumbled backwards as she hit him and screamed out of pain. Ugh, this stupid bitch! Why couldn't she just... stop?! Be a normal person that took care of John? John. He was alone in the kitchen now. Wouldn't it be much more... helpful if he went to... help him? When she came at him again he kicked her in the stomach so she actually fell backwards, and he got up again. "You're not even worth it. I'll take care of John now again as you're so obviously not interested in him. I am, he's more important than anything else and so I'll give up on this stupid fight with you. You won, we're leaving. Enjoy your shitty life. Cheers!"

Harry was still reeling from Sherlock's kick to the stomach, and her comeback came out as a breathless wheeze. Sherlock exited without looking back.  
John heard the approaching footsteps of Sherlock and tried to get up using his arms. He was still too weak, and fell back onto the ground. Whatever had happened, it was over suddenly, presumably with Sherlock ending it. God, Harry could really go too far sometimes... He dreaded to think what Mum was thinking about from the racket downstairs.  
No doubt they would be leaving tomorrow, and leaving mum here with Harry. They could put her in John's old room... No, no, it's much too dangerous, and she had always been a countryside woman anyway, she wouldn't settle in any city, much less London.  
John realised at that moment just how worn out he was. His eyes were heavy and his entire body felt sluggish, whether they were a side affect of whatever hell had gone on inside his head, he still felt that sleep was the best bet. In fact, he could... Just go to s..leep right.. Here...  
No. He needed to stay awake. Where were they going to go? He was almost certain Sherlock didn't know how to drive, and with John being unfit to drive, how were they going to get anywhere? At least, he thought Sherlock couldn't drive... Perhaps he might be wrong.  
Sherlock came walking through urgently, and John brightened at the sight of him.  
"Sherlock, I..." He tried to pull himself up again, but failed for the second time.

"Don't speak, please...", Sherlock said and knelled down next to John again, offering himself as a pillow, "I'm sure you're not strong enough for that now." The detective put his hand on his own face then, as he looked at his fingers he could see the blood from Harriet's scratches. He sighed in annoyance of her. "Listen, we maybe should get you into a hospital. Although I think that might not be a good idea as Moriarty could be coming at us then... but you need a doctor, and you know very well that I... I can't.."

"No, nno.." John mumbled, raising his hand feebly to wipe away some of the blood from Sherlock's face. He placed his face on the detective's thigh, "No hospitals... Just you and bed..."  
It was quite ironic really. Although John had worked and studied in a hospital, the thought of staying there as a patient did not sit well with him... The certain smell in the air, different scents for different parts of the hospital, from all sort of diseases and sickness.. No, he would not go to hospital. It sent shivers down his spine.

Sherlock stroke over John's arm carefully, then he nodded, "Alright. No hospital, I think that's for the best. You can't get up, but do you think I can lift you?" He had talked kind of fast as John's words had fastened his pulse and had the blood go into his head. He was all that he wanted now. To just lay there with him. It was... a good feeling to be needed, to be loved.

"I... Can get up," John said, scrabbling around luggishly, "I need... Some help though.. Support too..."

"No no no. I'm going to carry you. No risks." He didn't even leave John to try further, he just put his arms around him and lifted him like a groom would lift his bride.

John felt somewhat helpless in Sherlock's arms, something he didn't like too well, but if he were perfectly honest with himself, he wouldn't have made it to the door without falling on the floor again, and it was a relief to feel weightless. This time was an exception. The rocking of Sherlock's pace was relaxing, and John nuzzled the side of his face into Sherlock's shirt. He looked at the kitchen, all around it, and tried to memorise everything. Where the cups where, the bin, the tea.... Next time he came here it would probably be all switched around. He probably wouldn't be allowed to come back, if it were up to Harry, who had decided not to say goodbye to her older brother for obvious reasons.  
Sherlock covered the room's length in a matter of strides, and he was about to walk out of the door, when John caught a glimpse of his shoes put neatly on the mat.  
"Wait," He said weakly, pointing down to his shoes guiltily, "My shoes...."

Sherlock loved holding John like this, it was a miracle to him why he did, but he didn't change it. Still he was very careful and thought about every movement twice so that it wouldn't hurt John. When they were about to leave Sherlock heard John mention his shoes and he had no idea at all how he could get them or his owns. They were on the floor but he had no hand left to take them and kneeling down seemed to be too dangerous... "I'll place you in the car and then go back to get them, okay?", he whispered as he didn't want to talk too loud and cause John anymore pain.

John looked down at his shoes guiltily. It didn't seem right that Sherlock was doing everything for him, and treating him like an infant. He understood to some extent he needed to be coddled, but at this level it made John slightly uncomfortable. Without Sherlock, however, he would still be on the floor. The soldier part of him made it so he felt weak in times of injury, this probably stemmed from when he had been shot, and had a psychosomatic limp. He had gotten over it, soldiered on, one might say, it wasn't completely out of the blue, his hatred of appearing weak. But he knew that being protective was Sherlock's way of showing how much he meant to him, and for that he couldn't be angry. It was nice, to be so visibly loved, so much that he had attacked his sister for speaking against him.  
John gave a resigned sigh and held tighter to Sherlock.  
"Ok..." He mumbled hesitantly.

As Sherlock heard John's answer he nodded slightly, then he went to the door... which seemed to be another problem. How would he open it? He went a bit down and managed to somehow. Walking to the car wasn't easy either as it was dark and Sherlock couldn't see where he made his steps. And once he was there... well, how would he open the door of the car? The entrance of the house had been simple compared to that...

Sherlock's footing seemed to be uncertain, and John was worried about being dropped by accident onto the stone floor, but Sherlock didn't slip, and remained upright the entire time. When he reached the car however, he halted, and John felt him duck down to try and open the car door. Sluggishly, John intervened and took the keys from Sherlock's hand before lowering them down to the door and twisting. Nausea had begun to stir in the back of his throat, and he tried to swallow it down. It wasn't too bad at the moment, he just hoped it wouldn't grow.  
The car's lights flashed as a signal that mint was unlocked, and Sherlock moved back with John holding the handle. The door opened and swung out. Teamwork. John didn't really want to leave the warmth of Sherlock's arms, now that he had gotten over the slight embarrassment, it really was quite nice to be nestled in. The press would faint if they say this, they had been their number one "couple" a while back, way before they had actually started dating. It had caused some unwanted tension in the apartment, for both of them.  
John's mind still lingered on the unknown pain he had felt in his head, and how it could potentially hit again, at any time. Maybe next time he wouldn't be so lucky..,  
No, don't think about that. Focus on the fact that you are still here, with Sherlock, don't be such a wimp!

Sherlock was bending down again now, and gently put John in the passenger seat. John could see the concentration and worry in his face as he manoeuvred his arms so that John wouldn't get hurt. He noticed that he avoided touching his head, which was understandable. It made John love him even more for being protective, it was adorable how much he cared for him. Sherlock slipped his hands out from underneath John, and stepped back to see whether he was in a comfortable position, his eyes darting over John. John smiled gratefully and leaned over to buckle his seatbelt.

As he leant, an ache grew against the side of his head. It seemed whenever he moved his head to any extreme, the ache would develop. Slowly, he slotted the metal into the socket, and heard the schink of it clasping into place. It took him some strength to swing himself back into an upright position, and once he was settled, the seat felt like heaven on his back. His head felt devoid of liquid, maybe he hadn't drank enough? Could that be been the reason he had a headache? John knew that people developed symptoms like his when they were dehydrated, but not as potent as his. To the side, he felt the car move as Sherlock ever so carefully shut the door, it closed with a soft thunk. John hated to see Sherlock so worried and distressed, it didn't suit his usual confidence. If Sherlock was concerned, then it was always something serious. John felt a determination to recover as fast as he could, so that Sherlock would return to his usual arrogant self, the Sherlock John was comfortable with.  
"I love you." John whispered in the car as Sherlock moved around to the drivers side, unable to hear him.

Sherlock didn't feel comfortable with leaving John alone in the car, even if it was for this short of a time. He was helpless and couldn't defend himself. The perfect prey. Sherlock hurried to get inside nevertheless. Harriet surely wouldn't let him in again if she got the chance. So he hurried and got their shoes. He looked around and sighed. Would they ever return to this place? Just in case they wouldn't he decided to take a few photos of the rooms, at least the ones of the floor he was in. He didn't want to go upstairs and meet Harriet. When he was finished and carried John's shoes he left. They should never have come here in the first place... Sherlock then got into the car again. “I love you too“, he replied to John and started the engine. They had to get away from here.

John lifted his eyebrows slightly. So he had heard him, how? He settled with accepting Sherlock had the ears of a bat, and closed his eyes to listen to the gentle humming of the car. They should really return this to the owners, and boy will Lestrade be pissed off as all hell. God... What have they gotten themselves into? No, not themselves, Moriarty. That bastard.  
"Where are we going...?" John murmured, trying to free himself from sleep's embrace, but slowly failing.

“We have to take care of you. We need medicine and a place for you to rest. Basically anything will do“, Sherlock replied as he didn't know what to do and where to go either. This was what made Moriarty different from other... bad guys, from other criminals. He left Sherlock without a clue. It was both exciting and frightening at the same time.

"No hospitals... N," John yawned and felt his breathing deepen, "No hos....pitals....." The noise of the world grew silent, and before he knew it, John was asleep.

“John“, Sherlock looked at his boyfriend while driving, “John!“, he got louder as he didn't get a reply. Was he fine? He simply must!

John awoke sharply, and suddenly to Sherlock shouting his name. The adrenaline from his jump ebbed away quickly, and left him with the question as to why he was awoken. He frowned and groaned as he shuffled in disturbance at the slightly painful noise.  
"Mmm.... What?"

“You drifted away“, Sherlock replied, looking back and forth between John and the road, “I'm not the doctor here, tell me if it's fine for you to fall asleep or if it means you're...“ he couldn't finish saying that.

John lazily checked his pulse for any concerning signs, and he found none. Still... Now that he thought about it, what if Sherlock's fear was right? Maybe he was on the verge of dying? The thought unsettled him, and although he felt weighed down terribly by tiredness, he didn't feel comfortable falling asleep. He didn't know if he could stay awake for long, he desperately needed a bed, or the confirmation that he could indeed safely sleep. He blinked hard to make himself more aware.  
"I'll... Stay awake if that makes you feel better.... I don't want to particularly fall asleep now with that thought in my mind..."

“I want you to be the way that is the best for you. I mean headaches do get better from sleeping, so maybe rest is exactly what you need?“

John frowned slightly in hesitance, and made a doubtful noise. He didn't feel comfortable falling asleep, much less in a car miles away from any hospital. But, he was so tired.... He felt on the brink of tears from his frustration.  
"I don't know!" He growled through gritted teeth, forcing the tears to stop welling up.  
He was a soldier for god's sake, not a child. He wasn't getting angry at Sherlock, and he hoped that the detective didn't take it that way. John was getting annoyed at himself, and the predicament they were in. A sense of hopelessness and frustration was building up in his chest, and pretty soon it would burst out. A tantrum was approaching like a thick black John-shaped storm.

Sherlock stayed silent now. He didn't want John to get angry, because that would raise his blood pressure and pulse which wouldn't be good in this state. So he simply drove on, he didn't know where. It was a difficult question. Where? He decided for a motel. It was a neutral place, maybe they would be left alone there, and be it only for the night.

John hoped that his tiredness would wear away as it often did, and he decided for the mean time to suck it up and get on with it. Beside him, Sherlock had fallen quiet, John didn't know whether it was because he was focusing, or because he didn't want to provoke him. The silence was unsettling, it made John squirm slightly in his seat. Perhaps putting on the radio would levitate the atmosphere? John switched on the radio and lowered the volume, he was still cautious. The music came through as a background noise, and it calmed John's nerves down. His eyes were still heavy, but sleep wasn't looming over him as it was before.

John could feel his mind becoming sharper, his mind more alert. Yes, he felt like shit, but it was better than before, when he was nearly exploding from frustration. But, he would welcome a bed with wide open arms, and the chance to touch Sherlock again, perhaps not in an entirely innocent way... Oh, but they needed to make sure that he was ok first, that was obviously Sherlock's number one priority; making sure John was safe. He supposed, it was his priority also, after all, it was his own life. Maybe it was a one time thing...? Like a migraine or chickenpox. What was the time? John realised that he had lost all sense of that word since they stole the car, which they would have to return. It was quite disorientating, and he knew it would be hell to get back into the swing of sleeping nights and staying awake through days. He looked over to Sherlock. He had his eyes on the road, focused. Preoccupied? Worried? Most definitely.

"Do you know where we're going?" John asked, hoping to kickstart some conversation.  


"I have no idea", Sherlock replied in all honesty. He had thought of something, yes, but it was ridiculous. "I thought of a motel, but how on earth am I supposed to get you in there? Whoever the owner might be, I surely cannot just carry you inside."


	19. To the motel

"I think I can walk by myself now, my legs sure as hell don't feel as weak." John replied, moving his legs around in the footwell.

"Are you sure?", Sherlock looked at John again as he wasn't. John had been so weak... If he'd walk on his own he'd walk behind him so he could catch him if he fell.

John scratched the nape of his neck.  
"Yeah, I mean, we've been driving for, what, an hour or so now? I might be a bit stiff and slow, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to walk, if I leant against you for support."   
He felt back to himself, but he still wanted to be safe, and with Sherlock offering his support, it gave him some security.

Sherlock faced the street again but couldn't hold back a slight smile that appeared on his lips as he thought of John leaning against him. He still didn't understand how this was something special. "Alright then. To a motel."

"I think there's one about 10 miles up the road... Or at least there was when I was here last." John said, realising that this might not be helpful.  
He had noticed Sherlock's little smile, and felt his cheeks redden with slight embarrassment, and happiness. Sherlock hadn't objected to him potentially leaning against him, was this progress?

Sherlock simply nodded and drove on to find that motel John had mentioned. He speeded up a bit because he could sense that his strong soldier was in need of rest.

It didn't take long for them to reach it, or at least it didn't in John's opinion, Sherlock's however might've been different. But, nevertheless, they reached it without having to stop for petrol, which was good because John had a feeling the fumes wouldn't help.   
The hotel looked significantly older than when John had first entered it, which was with one of his previous lovers, a relationship that was as long as a butterfly's life span, but it was a good memory nonetheless. It would make things slightly awkward for John.   
He shook the feeling off of his shoulders as Sherlock pulled into a parking space, almost effortlessly. It was pretty good, for someone John had thought to have never touched a steering wheel in his life. The car spluttered to a stop, the gentle humming of the engine silenced, and left John missing the vibrations of the seat he had grown accustomed to during their journey.   
Beside him, Sherlock relaxed against the seat with a quiet sigh. His perfect features were pulled into a slight concerned frown hardly anyone could notice. He was thinking. The top of his bottom lip was being tugged in by the biting of his teeth against the skin. He was thinking hard. John had noticed that his hands were still latched firmly onto the wheel, and his observing eyes stared forward. Sherlock was in his mind palace, in a trance.   
Slowly, John leant over and put his hand over Sherlock's left one, running his thumb down the side of his slender fingers.   
"Sherlock?"

The detective winced as the sudden touch interfered with his far off thoughts and gave him a fright. John, of course. “Yes?“, Sherlock replied and tried not to show that he had actually gotten a fright.

John frowned slightly. He was worried about Sherlock, which, in a way, was ironic, seeing as though it should be the other way around. He let out a small sigh, and looked into Sherlock's eyes, his gaze flickering from left to right. It wouldn't reveal much of his feelings, but it never hurt to try with Sherlock. But, as normal, nothing helped John figure out what his boyfriend was concerned about, although he could take a good guess and say it was him. Sherlock's eyes remained calm, but John knew better. He swallowed.  
"You ok?"

“This is all my fault...“, Sherlock finally managed to say, but broke the eye contact with John after having said this. It was with no doubt and he couldn't just look into the eyes of the man he loved with this knowledge.

John knitted his eyebrows together. Not this again...  
"What's your fault, the headache? The fact that my sister is a bitch? The fact that I love you no matter what? One little migraine isn't going to send me running for the hills, the same as Moriarty isn't."

 

"This might have very well killed you!", Sherlock raised his voice unwillingly and looked at John now though, his eyes were mirroring how desperate he really was, "I know what pain my... death... had caused you, and I can only admire the strength you had, surviving all that time... because I don't think that I would...if I ever... lost you..."

"You're stronger than you think, and anyway, I'm here now, aren't I?" John looked reassuringly into Sherlock's eyes, he patted his hand softly, "Now, can you come and help me walk? I don't think I can quite stand by myself yet."

Sherlock kept looking at John for a second, considering if he should listen to him, continue this together or not. This had been precisely why he had rejected John during all this time, why he couldn't tell him that he loved him. It was too dangerous. But if he did all this alone now he would lose him just like if he was being killed. How could he forgive him this kind of treason? So he nodded and opened the door of the car, walked around it and opened the door for John as well, ready to hold him in the way that was necessary.

John undid the seatbelt and swung his legs around so they were over the gravel ground. He shut his eyes, inhaled slowly and let it out through his mouth. He braced himself by placing his hands on the door frame, and glanced up at Sherlock. He could do it... He could do it. Gradually, he started to lift himself up from the seat. So far, his legs were remaining stable, and showed no signs of collapsing. Still, the number of patients he had seen recover, only to plummet back down again, it made him wary. He reached halfway when he felt his legs shake ever so slightly, just a tremor but it still sent his hands flying to Sherlock's blazer. Support.... Sherlock held his arms, and pulled him up gently to his feet. A rush of adrenaline hit John, from standing up too fast, and he leant against Sherlock, into the alcove that seemed to be made just for him.  
"Thank you" John mumbled.

Sherlock was surprised by John's sudden words; he had only done what had felt right. He had had to support John. Was this how normal people worked? He shook off this thought and focused on what was happening. “You're welcome“, Sherlock said, and he didn't only because he had learned it as the common response to a phrase, but because he felt it. He'd never leave John's side.

Sherlock had parked close to the entrance, which made it easier for John. They stumbled, slowly and carefully, to the double doors (which were thankfully automatic). A woosh of heated air greeted their cold faces. The place seemed welcoming enough, the lobby was empty, and contained several armchairs that looked like they would swallow you whole without a single warning. A radio station was playing quietly over the speakers and provided a relaxed environment, if you counted Shakira as relaxing. Pictures of smiling faces and landscapes were dotted about on the pale yellow walls strategically, to captivate people's eyes, they were the same pictures from when John had last stepped foot into the hotel, except back then the walls were a pastel red. To the corner, was the reception desk, a curved piece of light wood, with signs and directions drilled into the sides. Behind it was a young receptionist, with tied back brown hair and an open face, inviting. Her mouth was stretched into a smile that seemed like it was always in use, John looked down to her name tag. Kelly, it didn't suit her, in John's opinion. More of a Sophie, or Chloe.   
They must've looked a pair, with John in ruffled clothes and unkempt hair, leaning harshly against Sherlock, who looked, as always, as if he had just stepped out of a movie set, his hair perfect and clothes uncreased. Nevertheless, her wide smile never faltered, even though John looked like he was drunk. Once they had shuffled up to the desk, she spoke in a clear and sharp voice, John had a feeling that her pronunciation of 's' would be able to cut right through him.  
"Good morning gentlemen, how can I help you today?"

"We need a room", Sherlock replied, figuring that she didn't care about any of their business. She was tired of this job, simply gave the rooms to the people who wanted them and was glad as soon as they left again.

"Well, that's what we're here for!" She said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, John could tell that she didn't just mean it in a joking way, "Will you be needing a room with single beds or, a double one?"  
John's hypothesis about her 'esses' was right, they almost made him wince with how sharp they were.

"Well of course we'll be needing a double bed", the detective said, having wanted to give this answer for so long already. He remembered like it was yesterday when Mrs. Hudson had asked if they would be needing two bedrooms. And now they'd even share a bed!

Although her smile remained consistent, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at Sherlock's tone, and John elbowed Sherlock subtly to remind him to play nice. The detective didn't give any indicator of whether he understood or not, so John gave it the benefit of the doubt.  
"Of course."  
She looked over to her computer screen and began typing on the keyboard along with the occasional mouse click. By now, the radio had changed to a new song.  
"Ok, we do have a double bed, on the second floor. Will you be needing breakfast?"

Sherlock blinked a few times. Second floor. Would John be able to take the stairs? That was yet to be figured out. He would try to carry him if necessary, but Sherlock was getting weak by now as well, It's been a rough day. He even overheard the question that he was being asked.

"Sir?"

He looked at John to see his opinion on this.  
John shrugged his shoulders, they might as well pay for it, they hadn't had a proper meal in a while, a good full English sounded like a godsend to John. He turned to look at "Kelly" and nodded.  
"Yeah, we'll be needing the breakfast, is there, eh, a lift available?"  
Her eyes looked to her left, and were closely followed by her finger pointing down the hallway.  
"Yeah, go down to the end of the hallway, and they'll be on your left. Breakfast is served in the canteen from 5 to half 8, buffet. I'll just get your key card and you can go to your room, it's number 211."   
She bent down slightly and opened a drawer before taking out two plastic cards and placing them on the counter. Now that her job was done, she shunned them completely, and went back to whatever she was previously doing on the computer, her welcoming stature was now nowhere to be seen. Quite a good actress. Sherlock picked up both cards and handed one to John.   
"Right then." John sighed, readying himself for the walk down the hallway.   
He was relieved that there was an elevator, he wondered what would've happened if there weren't. Sherlock would have probably carried him, scooped up again. The thought put a faint smile on John's face, which widened as he thought of himself carrying Sherlock that way, it was a ridiculous image.

The detective looked at the smaller male next to him, glad that he asked about the elevator. Hadn't there been one, well... but there was. He carefully started to walk John the direction the woman, unnecessary to remember her name, had described. He didn't really like her, what was that caused by? Probably the way she thought of herself, how few interest she showed in others... "John, is that how people see me?", Sherlock asked when they had walked a bit already and the receptionist couldn't hear them anymore.


	20. Finally alone in the motel room

"See you as what?" John furrowed his eyebrows.  
“Like her, the receptionist“, he replied and made a move with his head to the woman.  
"No... No you're, you're nothing like her, Sherlock." John said, hoping Sherlock would buy it. "She was bored with her job, and didn't give us the best customer service... Some things can't be helped, I guess."  
They weren't, exactly polar opposites, she, however, hid behind a false mask, whereas Sherlock tended to... Wear his opinions on his sleeve. That was a part of being Sherlock, some people loved him for it, like John, and others, well, others didn't.

"She's cold, uninterested in others but herself. She doesn't even try to hide her disapproval of the others, and I hate her. How is it any other from what I do?", Sherlock said, looking to the floor, wondering why he suddenly cared about this. It was like a weakness that he had long pushed away was returning to the surface.

John placed a hand firmly on Sherlock's chest to make him stop, and stared up into his eyes with his stone hard look.  
"Uninterested in others but herself? Is that what you see yourself as, 'uninterested in others'? Who am I to you Sherlock, just give me one word. Who am I?"

Sherlock looked into John's eyes, moving from one to the other. What was this question to be answered with one word? There was so much that John was. He was his salvation, he was the one who made his heart beat faster, who made him smile without a reason, who could always brighten up his days and brought him happiness. John was the one who was different from anybody else, whose behaviour was highly interesting and whose features were worth observing, he was both protective and to be worried about. He was the one. But how to describe that in one word? 

"Everything. John, you're everything to me", Sherlock said, hoping he'd understand how far this word reached.

John was just looking for the word, 'boyfriend', but in fact he received an answer that was bigger than that. It kind of ruined his strategy. Nevertheless, he soldiered on with his endeavour.  
"I know, and you are everything to me too." He paused, "See? You're not interested in just yourself, you love others. You love me, Mrs Hudson, Molly... Yes, it may be a select few but they are people other than yourself. It may come to you as a surprise, but they care about you, I care about you, my tin soldier."

It indeed was a surprise to the detective. He made those mistakes over and over again, hurt people without even knowing that he did and only knowing that he did by their reaction afterwards. But to hear those words from John... it brought the exact happiness that he had described earlier to his heart and also his face, for he couldn't stop the smile that started to form itself. It was a slight, weak, fallen smile. What was the suitable answer to those words? He didn't know. Anything he'd say would come out either stupid, provoking or saddening. Wouldn't he be holding John already he would have hugged him. Being close to him seemed to be the right solution. "Thank you for that, thank you for being with me although you know what kind of arse I can be...", Sherlock said quietly, but still with the slight smile.

John felt a smile stretch his lips and he shook his head, chuckling quietly.  
"It's ok, you idiot." He said lovingly as he started to move forward again.  
Sherlock moved with him.

As they arrived at the elevator and waited for it, Sherlock held John even closer. He wanted and needed this closeness now.

John felt the comforting squeeze of Sherlock tightening his grip on his shoulders, and nestled into it. He wanted Sherlock, as soon as they got into the room, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything. Frustration bubbled up again. Could he? As they were waiting for the elevator, John gently pushed away from Sherlock.  
"I'm just going to see if I can stand up by myself, I won't be a mo."

"Okay, be careful", Sherlock replied and still held his hands out just in case he'd have to catch John. He didn't know how long it'd take to recover, but he wouldn't risk anything.  
He held his arms out to balance himself, and gradually left the support of Sherlock's torso behind him. It was like regressing back to his infant years of wobbling around on his chunky legs, trying to stay upright. Not that he can remember that, of course. Sherlock probably could. John managed to stand upright independently, now, all he had to do, was see if he could walk. An ache resided in his thighs, but it didn't threaten his stability. They had regained their confidence in themselves, or at least, they did while he was standing. He stared at the wall and inhaled deeply. The sense of anxiousness brought him back to his first day of army training, the fear and weight of every pair of tall, muscled eyes resting on his short, stocky physique. No.  
He blocked that memory from his mind, now was not the time for a relapse of that sort. To his side, he clenched his fists with determination. One leg rose, and he planted it on the brown carpet below. No problems there, balance was good. He tried the other leg, and it followed in succession. Yes! John felt relief flood him and he let out a silent cheer.  
"Fuck yes!" He whispered loudly, shaking his fists triumphantly in the air.

Sherlock couldn't help himself and smiled at how happy John was about this small success, and was equally happy about the fact that his health was improving. Soon John would be the same again; if there were lucky nothing from the attack would stay. As the elevator arrived Sherlock asked: "Would you like me to help or try it on your own?"

"I can handle it just fine now!" John said happily, striding slowly into the metal box.  
He could walk, but the ache limited his speed. A tortoise, gradually ambling along at its own pace, that's what he was, at least, at the moment. Sherlock glided into the elevator beside him and pressed number two on the buttons. The doors shut with a slight scrape. The familiar feeling of going up settled in John's abdomen, and he leant back on the pole lining the elevator, it was cool on his spine. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Sherlock watching him with interest and affection. John couldn't stop the small smile from appearing on his face and crescendoing with a chuckle. They were like teenagers all over again. Heat rose to his cheeks and he felt himself start to blush.

"Are you blushing over there, Doctor Watson?", Sherlock mentioned jokingly and grinned at the other male. He loved this happy mood. This teeny, flirty kind of mood. Hadn't John been weak like he was it probably would have ended in tickling or chasing each other through the halls. But just teasing talk could be nice too.

John's smile spread into a grin.  
"Maybe." He giggled slyly, trying to suppress his grin, and failing to do so.

"That's no maybe", Sherlock grinned, looking away though because he tried to act serious, "Your cheeks are really really red. Are we having indecent thoughts?"

John felt heat swarth his face, he must've looked just like a cherry. He bit his lip as images of Sherlock in various states of undress filled his mind's eye. He let out a restrained giggle that sounded like a hiss through his tightened lips. Sherlock knew how to manipulate his thoughts.

"So the answer's yes, huh? What are we thinking about then? You know I can read minds", Sherlock smirked and lifted an eyebrow. He enjoyed this very much, although he didn't know where this sudden attacking flirty came from. How he was so confident when he usually was so shy about this topic.

The elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors opened onto a hallway. John looked at Sherlock mischievously.  
"I'll tell you when we get to our room, soldier..."

"Oh, I like the sound of that", Sherlock kept smirking and bit his lip. He left the elevator and waited in front of it just in case John would need help. This waiting was like torture. John had started a counterattack but it had been successful.

Sherlock stood like a dog awaiting it's master to throw a stick, and John liked it, the suspense, the excitement and desperation within his normally calm eyes. The ball was in his court, and he was going to draw it out.  
"Do you now?" He said in a voice like crushed velvet, low and seductive.  
John poised his foot, and placed it daintily on the carpet, moving it this way and that until he deemed it in the right position. His other foot followed suite. They were quiet. John looked up at Sherlock with a devilish smile as he swung his right foot in front of his left to land back on the ground. A sly cackle escaped John's lips. He was enjoying this, but at the same time, he was also desperate for contact of the different sort.

If he could he would just have rushed to John and kissed him, pushed him against the wall maybe or had even, once they were in their room, thrown him on the bed. It was very difficult to resist. And that voice! Sherlock could feel how his emotions started to race. He wanted to be close to John right now. "I do", he admitted, then watched John slowly get out of the elevator. Slow, so slow. This kind of teasing was so much worse than what Sherlock had done before.

John had reached the third door in the hallway when he began to experience....inconveniences with his trousers, walking became harder. The buildup to getting into the room was making his insides tingle with excitement. He wanted Sherlock right there, in the hallway wall even, but his legs would not allow him. Their room was the next door along so it wouldn't be long to wait. Sherlock had disappeared into the room already, and had left the door wide open for him. When John was standing in the doorway, he could see that the lights were still off, perfect for an ambush. He looked around, feigning confusion at the lack of a Sherlock in the room.

Sherlock was looking forward to this, although he did feel kind of stupid doing this. But maybe that's what love was, just being stupid. It didn't make sense anyway. He didn't want to think now, so he sneaked towards John and when he was next to him, he wrapped his arms around him from behind. "Don't worry, it's just me", he whispered to his ear, before he turned John around and kissed him. Oh how he had needed this. Feeling John's lips on his own, it was fantastic and erased each and every thought except for those naughty ones from his mind. So he lifted John up, pushed him against the wall and kissed him more passionately. Damn, this was good!

John let out a gasp at the strong arms snaking around his waist and turned his head around slightly to look at Sherlock. His spine shivered as Sherlock's deep baritone rumble vibrated through him, the warm breath on his ear made him suck in slightly. He felt the world turn as John was moved to face his detective, their lips met mid-turn and John couldn't help but let out a muffled chuckle. Oh it was amazing! It was like finally being able to feel, and the unrelenting inner scream for more made the world silent except for him and Sherlock. He thirsted for more, even when he couldn't. He pressed his lips harder against Sherlock's to try and relief the thirst he suddenly realised he had. It felt like he had had it for years, and it was only now that he was satisfying it. Something inside him began to growl and grow, the primitive need for sexual touch was awakening after many years of being subdued. Nobody had gotten close to unlocking it, but Sherlock made it explode open.  
Sherlock pushed him against the wall and he felt his stomach drop with excitement. This was what he wanted. Needed. Thirsted for. Craved. The strong grip of Sherlock's hands fuelled his fire. Their lips locked together again. John ran his hands through his hair, pulling and teasing on Sherlock's dark curls. The detective's hands roamed up his sides towards his neck. John pulled away ever so slightly to pant,  
"I've been waiting for this for far too long."

“Me too“, Sherlock replied and didn't only mean... it. He had also waited very long to be this close to John and now that he could finally be with him he knew what happiness was. “I...“, he started, but decided it was too early and muted himself with a kiss. He didn't know how far they'd go tonight, but John was just as aroused as he was. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins. There was no bigger excitement.

John returned the kiss and grinned into it. His head was growing light from the adrenaline and increased air intake.  
"Yes?" He chuckled lowly, wanting to know what Sherlock had to say before he kissed him again.

“N... nothing“, he lied, being too much into the action to come up with a good alternative and started to kiss John's neck in the hope that he'd forget about it.

John's world narrowed to the feeling of Sherlock's lips on his sensitive neck and he let out an involuntary gasp. Goosebumps rose on his skin and a shiver of pleasure ran through him. He pulled Sherlock tighter to his body.

The detective smiled for he could cause those kind of reactions on John and the demanding pull made him put more passion into it too. He wanted to be with John, he wanted to be so close to him.

John ran his hands back down Sherlock's neck and underneath his shirt to his warm skin. His hands were icy cold from the lack of heat in the car, and on Sherlock's body was the best place for them to warm up.

Sherlock shivered as he felt John's cold hands on his skin, both because of the touch and their temperature. But he didn't mind them being cold. Feeling a touch, feeling John's touched let his body cheer with joy and he trembled slightly. He was way too sensitive, probably because he had waited for so long.  
"Someone's eager..." John chuckled, feeling the slight bulge pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Sherlock let go of John's neck and looked down blushing slightly. He wasn't used to this at all.

John found it adorable how embarrassed and inexperienced Sherlock was with this side of him. A teenager, unsure of what or how to do this. It was like he was just discovering his own body, a mystery he had never explored before. John placed his hands on the sides of Sherlock's face and lifted it up to his eye level. He pressed his forehead against Sherlock's whilst maintaining his beautiful gaze.  
"I love you too."

Sherlock looked at John and was puzzled. “How do you...“, he started, but couldn't finish to ask how he knew, for he was overwhelmed by the wave of feelings that crushed down on him. John loved him too. John loved him too! His heart cheered and he wanted to shout it from all the rooftops of the town. John loved him too.

John shrugged.  
"I'm just magical." He said simply, a wide grin on his face.  
He laughed.

“You are“, Sherlock replied, but he didn't laugh. He simply smiled and looked at John in pure admiration.

John leant in for another kiss and closed his eyes upon contact. He wished that they could relive this moment again and again. It was funny how he could be close to death at one moment and the next, holding his boyfriend intimately in a hotel room. Two opposites of life, in the space of a few hours. He didn't care about what has happened or will happen, he shut his world off to just this moment, where he could enjoy Sherlock and the time they had together. He felt his heart ache to be with Sherlock's, it was the exact same feeling he had at his mother's house, but amplified. He needed to be one with Sherlock, a part of him.  
"I love you." He repeated into Sherlock's mouth, throwing his arms over the detective's back and tightening his grip.

“And I love you“, Sherlock replied, being more than happy that he could finally say those words. He loved John, he did more than words could say and he wanted to give in to that affection now, he wanted to be as close to him as close can be.

John murmured in affection and buried his face into the side of Sherlock's neck, breathing deeply. His back had began to ache slightly from the hard wall behind him, and he needed Sherlock. After a few seconds, he moved his mouth to near Sherlock's ear.  
"Do you think we can move to the bed now?" He whispered lowly, making sure that he breathed deeply.

John's tone made Sherlock urgently want to do what he asked for and erased all other thoughts. He carried him to the bed and lay him down carefully (under other circumstances he might have thrown him instead). Then he followed him and climbed on him.

The bed squeaked slightly under the new addition of John's weight, and he knew that the other guests would not be getting much sleep tonight. He didn't care. He started to unzip his trousers, and stared up at Sherlock the entire time. They were going to do it, finally, properly. Excitement rushed through his veins and adrenaline caused his heart to pound. Slowly, he slipped his trousers off of his legs and kicked them off of the bed before moving on to doing the same to Sherlock's trousers, which were harder to do because of the belt he wore. It only made the suspense thicken. John whipped it off of Sherlock's waist and threw it so hard that it hit the wall on the opposite side of the room. It made a loud bang, which was what they were about to do. John pushed the detective's trousers down his rear and thighs until he couldn't go any further due to Sherlock's knees digging into the bed. His hands went back up to the elastic of his underpants and he gave it a slight ping before pulling them down over Sherlock's alabaster skin to meet with the pool of his trousers at his knees. He couldn't help but run his hands over the detective's smooth, unblemished skin, and the firm muscle of his rear. How was it so perfect? He was like a Greek statue, with godly characteristics.  
"God, you're perfect.." John breathed.

Sherlock felt very tensed, feeling John work on his trousers and watched him. He didn't move, didn't want to make a mistake, didn't want to move just one bit away and make John think that he didn't want this. Because he did. He did want this. And how much he did! He just had thought that it wouldn't be so fast, that they'd start with something else, do some kind of foreplay, kiss each other, caress each others' bodies. How he wanted to kiss John's chest... while John started to work on Sherlock's trousers he slid his hands under his love's shirt and ran his fingers over the skin. He got a very small fright when the belt was thrown away, but heat started raising up in his body. Feeling John's hands so deep down, so close to those sensitive spots let his desires wake further. He moaned out very slightly as John touched his bare skin, he loved this, but was so helpless at the same time. It was a weird way of being exposed, but he somehow felt safe too. Must have been because of John, but still... nobody had ever seen him like this, nobody had ever touched him like this. And never had he had to think about what to do in such a case. What was he supposed to do?


	21. Doing it - or not?

The doctor wanted to feel Sherlock's bare skin, the warmth and sensation of it., and the thin barrier of shirt stopped him from doing so. The small moan Sherlock had given out caused a spike of adrenaline to pierce his body and spurred him on in his actions. God, how he wanted that man! John began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt, gradually looping the buttons from out of the fabric. He felt Sherlock's bare legs and arse rest on his calves, warmth seeped into his skin. It felt like his natural state, to be naked with Sherlock, their bodies touching.

Sherlock's chest began to show as the fabric fell away from his skin, and soon his entire front was on show. For a man who never excercised, Sherlock was certainly a far cry from out of shape. His lithe body and long limbs gave him a graceful, almost unearthly look to him, and John couldn't stop himself from lying back and taking him in, from the pointed lips to the slight ripple of muscle at his stomach. He was like a piece of art sculpted by Michelangelo, and he was all his. He forgot about his own shirt, after all, he was too immersed in the pure beauty of Sherlock's physique.

Sherlock could only blush seeing the way John looked at him. He belonged to John now, and no matter what he was planning to do, he'd willingly give in to it.

"C..can I?", he asked, and pulled slightly on John's shirt.

He wanted this damn thing off now, he wanted John, he wanted his skin against his own, he wanted to touch him.

John was pulled from his trance by Sherlock's deep voice.

"Mm? Oh, yeah, sure." He mumbled before returning his attention to Sherlock, this time focusing on the sharp slopes of his face.

Sherlock loved John's clothing style, it had a touch of home, it seemed to say 'Yes, you belong here', but right now it was inconvenient. The big pullover and the shirt below, they were much more difficult to get off of him than just some buttons that you could open.

John was lifted up slightly by Sherlock's pulling of the jumper he was wearing, and he straightened up to aid him. The piece of clothing came off relatively easy, and below was a simple button-up shirt that would be easy to undo. It was at this point that John realised that he was still wearing his boxers around his waist and he shuffled underneath Sherlock to reach them in order to rid himself of them.

Sherlock was highly nervous. He knew what John wanted to do the second that he started to move his hands. They'd both be... He closed his eyes for a moment. No, he wanted this. He wanted this. Then why was there still something inside him telling him it wasn't natural? It was... he didn't even know what it was. Being touched was something that didn't come naturally to him. And that special area... it was even more... special. Why couldn't he just enjoy it? He wanted to. He did. He loved being close to John, he loved his kisses, his touches, his love... but this was all so fast. Couldn't they get to it slower?

John halted his hands at the sight of Sherlock shutting his eyes, and understood the sign of uncomfortableness on the detective's face. Ok... Maybe not at the moment... The last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to feel uncomfortable, this was a moment that should be enjoyed by both of them and he would respect Sherlock's feelings. He couldn't bare to hurt the one he loved most. John didn't say anything, as it might've ruined the moment, but he said a silent apology in his head.

His hands slid onto Sherlock's waist and swept over his back to rest on his neck before he pushed Sherlock's face down to his. He began to give him small kisses all over his cheeks, his mouth, forehead, everywhere. They were like his mark, to show that he loved Sherlock, and nobody else could have him. His lips finished their journey by pressing onto Sherlock's.

Sherlock kept his eyes closed, hiding in that sweet dark nothing, but John's kisses got through to him and he could feel how his muscles slowly relaxed, how he relaxed. He was thinking too much. Simply thinking too much. John's kiss changed that. It was so wonderful, their lips on each other, like a miracle. Sherlock wanted to get closer to John, but he didn't dare to move as he wasn't wearing any pants anymore. He couldn't just touch him. He couldn't just touch him with those down parts. John wouldn't want that. Or would he?

John was enjoying the taste of Sherlock on his lips, if this was all his boyfriend wanted then he would be fine, it didn't always need to get full-blown. He would settle for kissing, and holding off the more passionate stuff for later on if needs be.

Of course John would be fine with it. He was the one who took Sherlock's pants off in the first place. He wouldn't mind. He wouldn't push him away. They had come so far, and no matter what his mind would tell him, Sherlock was turned on by all of the things they had done just now. He was awkward, but John was fine with it. John was fine with all of it. He loved him. He loved him. He loved him. So he dared it and kind of pressed himself against his beloved while he kept kissing him.

John felt the slight brush of Sherlock's stiff member against his leg as the detective lowered himself down beside him so that they were lying next to each other, legs intwined. His hairs stood on end from the shiver of pleasure that ran through him, he imagined Sherlock on top of him, riding him, the feeling of...No, none of those thoughts tonight. If Sherlock didn't want that sort of love at the moment then John would respect his feelings. John rested his upper body on top of Sherlock's chest. Throughout all of this, their lips never broke contact. He secretly wished that he could take his underpants off, they were.... Restricting. His hands cupped Sherlock's face and he kissed him harder to blank his mind from any selfish or mood-wrecking thoughts. They moved up into his dark hair and teased the curls. It was soothing to John, he pulled gently, so that it wouldn't hurt Sherlock's scalp.

Sherlock's breath went deeper and harder the more John was doing all those things to him. To feel those fingers in his hair was wonderful. Exciting. And their bodies next to each other... incredibly tempting. Sherlock couldn't help himself and changed his position again, looking at John, always in worry if he would mind. Now that he got finally access to his chest he wanted to caress it and he did. He took his place in between John's legs, then he ran his hands over the hot skin to get an idea of it first. It was smooth and hard at the same time, muscly but soft. He crawled somehow on top of John and started to kiss the skin right below his neck first, the sweet and tempting hollow that he loved so much. Sherlock's breath fastened and he went for it more eagerly. Then he continued moving downwards and kissed John's chest, always hoping that John liked it too.

Sherlock's sudden change of attitude slightly confused John, but he wasn't exactly complaining. When he straddled his legs, John felt once again the resistance of his pants against his member and he moaned ever so slightly through the open crack of his lips. What should he do with them....? He was sure that if Sherlock felt comfortable enough that he would either do it himself, or give John a sign. John liked the sensation of Sherlock's slender fingers running over his skin, he was playing him, like his violin back at Baker Street... He must miss it... Sherlock's kisses on his neck drew him from his thoughts whilst making his breathing hitched, and once again, his hairs stood on end. As he trailed his lips further down to John's chest, the shivers increased in potency, so much so that they made the world muted except for the sound of his body reacting to the brush of Sherlock's lips temporarily against his skin in his ear canal.

The kisses came harder now, more passionate and wet. John couldn't do anything but lie back and allow Sherlock to kiss him. He loved this man, beyond words. It frustrated him, the fact that he couldn't put his affection into words, but it relieved him to know that Sherlock felt the same way, he had told him several times before.

While placing those kisses, Sherlock went deeper and deeper, until he kissed around the edge of John's underwear and ran his hands over his thighs. He could continue now, he could, but from this point on he was helpless. Kissing John's upper body had been what his impulses had told him to do, it was like John had said earlier, but now there could be so many mistakes... So Sherlock let go of John, sat on his knees and looked at his lover. He enjoyed this very much. Both of them did. And Sherlock wanted more. He wanted to be as close to John as he could. He knew that both of them were wanting this. "Please, John, continue", he said, as he wanted for John to go back in charge. This was the best way to deal with it.

John was confused, and hesitant. Did he mean what he thought he meant? John gave it the benefit of the doubt, and took his words as an invite to take the lead instead of taking his boxers off. He lazily rolled Sherlock onto his back and continued to kiss him, this time in a line going across his throat, marking out the small indent of skin.

Sherlock moaned out as John made this kind of contact with his neck and would have blushed, but it was too much of an enjoyment as that he would care. Yes, he liked this, John taking lead, and as he had found his weak spot he couldn't help it but got lost in the pleasure.

John felt Sherlock shudder beneath him, and a sense of pride flourished in him. He had found Sherlock's pleasure point. He lightened his touch on the skin, just so that his lips brushed the surface, and his warm breath poured over Sherlock's neck. These two factors were sure to send Sherlock into a frenzy of pleasure.

Sherlock lay his head back unknowingly and let out another moan, this touch of John's sent pure excitement through all of him. it was his body reacting now, not his mind. This wasn't only a movement of enjoyment, it also granted John better access to Sherlock's neck if he wanted to continue. And Sherlock wished he would continue. His breathing had fastened and deepened and was accompanied by deep tones that escaped his lungs, showing how much he loved this.

The deep moans of pleasure that emanated from Sherlock's mouth kept John at it, and whilst inside his heart was pounding hard, on the outside his lips were being soft and gentle... Two extremes in one body, mentally and physically. Sherlock's obvious state of arousal made John quiver with enjoyment, both of them were satisfied with what they were doing.

This was exactly what he had needed. Sherlock didn't think anymore, he just felt. And what he felt was his love for John and the excitement he caused in him. And it was fantastic! The only bad thing was that he had to keep his voice down because of possible other guests of the motel, and because it was kind of embarrassing, showing how much John could really get to him. Sherlock was very sensitive and every new touch was like a firework.

Sherlock's attempts at keeping his pleasure unknown to the other guests made John huff quietly to himself in amusement. But, at the same time, he saw it as a challenge, to try and make Sherlock unable to stop himself from shouting. Whilst he was gently kissing his throat, his hand snaked downwards and 'glossed' over Sherlock's member, almost casually, so that it wouldn't be picked up as intentional. A simple slip, that was all...

Sherlock was lost in John's kiss, he had already closed his eyes, this time to erase anything else but the pleasure. When John's hand met 'him' he breathed in sharply. Out of surprise, yes, but it was also something else. He loved it. He wanted more.

Damn...! Only a sharp intake of breath, nowhere near the shout he was hoping for. He couldn't do it again right after the first time.... He would have to wait a while before 'slipping' again. At least he knew that it had an effect on Sherlock, he could use that to his advantage. John trailed his lips further down to Sherlock's stomach, and felt the grooves of muscle under them, like sloping hills. He wanted to kiss Sherlock's lips again to taste him, and brought his up to meet the slightly parted lips of the detective.

Yes, yes, yes! Those kisses... damn! They were so good. When their lips met again Sherlock could finally show his affection in a way, too again and answered the kiss. He kissed John wilder and more passionately than ever before, feeling that this was a way to let out all the energy that filled his body now. He still breathed fast, breaths accompanied by sound. He had to get ahold of himself!

John's lips were met with Sherlock's crashing into them, a force that took him back slightly, but also rivalled his competitive side. He pressed harder against Sherlock's face and closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation. Once again, he ran his fingers into Sherlock's hair, they separated at the Palm to allow room for Sherlock's ear. John loved this, feeling Sherlock's hair with the addition of his fleshy earlobe in between his fingers.

Sherlock didn't know how but his body longed for John and moved against him in a way. It made weird moves but he couldn't help it, so he ignored it and kept focusing on that intense kiss, on John's fingers in his hair and at his ear. How was his skin so sensitive that all of this sent waves of pleasure through him.

John was beginning to lose the feeling of being in the moment, it had passed for him, but that didn't mean he would stop, Sherlock still seemed to be in the moment. He continued to kiss Sherlock, and he ran his fingertips down Sherlock's arms

Sherlock took in another sharp and deep breath as John's fingers teased the inside sides of his arms. He opened his eyes again and tried to find John's, for he felt that he was ready, but didn't know about him.

John felt Sherlock's gaze on him, and looked into his eyes, he was trying to say something with his body, but John was unsure of what he wanted exactly. He broke away from Sherlock's lips and laid on top of him, his lips brushing his ear.

"What are you trying to tell me?" He whispered.

Sherlock couldn't just say it. He couldn't. Or could he? He wanted this so bad right now, had been dragged to this point where he'd give anything for it. "I want you, John...", he replied and was happy that John couldn't see his face at the moment.

John felt cold shock pierce his heart, but it was quickly replaced by the electrifying feeling of excitement. He didn't think that they would get to this. It had been so long since John had experienced.... this sort of love, he feared himself to be rusty. What? Why did he think that? Sherlock was bound to be feeling the same, if not worse.

He caught on to the fact that Sherlock was shielding his face on purpose to hide the embarrassment, and felt a pit of guiltiness. Had he forced Sherlock to feel compelled to do it?

"Are you sure? I don't want to push you into things..."

"No, if you are you're pushing me by all those feelings you give to me", Sherlock said, still out of breath and slightly trembling from excitement, "But it's a good thing. I want this now. I want you to release me."

"Ok."

Now there was just one thing that he needed to know.

"Do you want to be top or bottom?"

He didn't know actually. He didn't know anything, didn't know what was to come. But he could figure that if John was on top he'd be the one to bring the action, that he'd be in charge. So he said with a slight blush: "Bottom."

John smiled slightly down at Sherlock, and looked down to his pants still around his waist.

"Could you, uh," he let out a huff, "Help me out with them?"

"You mean take them off?", Sherlock looked at John slightly puzzled.

John shut his eyes briefly before looking back at Sherlock with tired amusement shining in his eyes.

"Yes."

"A... and you'll be fine with it?" He just wanted to make sure he was. He didn't want him to regret this, or to be stopped halfway through.

Also he was surprisingly shy.

"Well I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't, would I?" John said, his question tapering off into a light chuckle.

He loved how shy Sherlock was in bed, as opposed to his usual arrogant counterpart in public. It was adorable and warmed his heart.

"Ye...yes, of course", Sherlock said and shook his head. Why was he being like this? He'd just go for it. So he moved his hands down John's body until he arrived at the elastic waist of the pants. He slid his thumbs into them and looked at John's face now, looking for a final sign before he'd do it.

John gave Sherlock an assuring smile when he looked up at him, like a child awaiting their parents' permission... Not exactly the best topic to bring up right before they were going to have sex. They were so close, Sherlock's thumbs were hooked on the elastic. If anyone should be hesitating it was John, he was still unsure whether Sherlock truly wanted this or not. But, if Sherlock was willing to take his pants off... Then he must be ready. He gave a small, single nod.

John wanted this too. Of course he did. They wouldn't have done all they did before if he hadn't. Still this was a huge step. An intimacy that Sherlock had never known. But he wanted it now. So he slowly pulled on John's pants, it wasn't easy as they were tight and him being aroused didn't make it easier, but he finally managed to take them off. After that he waited for further orders from his captain.

John let out a deep sigh of freedom, and gently lowered himself to Sherlock's face again, slowly kissing his lips. He wouldn't start full pelt, no, he didn't want to overwhelm Sherlock. A build up would be better. John increased his passion in his kiss slightly, he wouldn't grind yet. A fire always started with small twigs and leaves, putting on top much at the start would cause it to suffocate, it was just like their situation. He would do it slowly, intimately, gently.

Sherlock smiled at John's sigh, but felt a bit guilty that he hadn't taken off the pants earlier. At least John was a free man now. But those thoughts were erased when they got back at it, and John's loving kiss let him disappear into their own world again.

John could feel everything now that the barrier had slipped into his knees. It was all he could do from freezing in place from the heightened sensitivity he had down there, but he continued to kiss Sherlock, taking precaution not to brush against anything that might sent a shock through him.

Sherlock wanted to do something with his hands and not feel so useless, so he put his hands into John's hair and ran threw it while he answered the kiss.

Sherlock's fingers through his hair sent shivers down his spine, but not the cold, erotic ones he had been experimenting, but instead warm, comforting shivers. They made him arch his neck slightly in enjoyment, away from Sherlock's pointed lips. His mouth was agape in sensation. Was this what Sherlock felt when he did this to his dark curls too? It felt like heaven, at the back of his mind, John felt the compelling urge to roll onto his back and squirm.

Sherlock was confused at first as John moved away from him, but smiled as he saw that it was because he was enjoying the way he treated his hair. So he kept doing it. He was glad he could do him something good, too, for this was the most exciting night Sherlock had had in his entire life. Nothing could compete with being this close to John.

John resisted his urge, and brought his lips down to Sherlock's forehead, the sensation of Sherlock's fingers in his hair still causing satisfaction to course through his scalp. Then he began to grind against Sherlock's hips, so gentle that he didn't know whether Sherlock would feel it or not.

When Sherlock felt John moving at his hips he opened his mouth as he probably would have moaned if it had been more than a brush, but the sweet expectation excited him as well. Yes, please. Continue, John. He had intended to say them out loud, but didn't in the end. But he loved what John was doing.

John travelled his lips down to Sherlock's, and felt the hot breath pour onto his neck as he moved from Sherlock's agape mouth. It gave John encouragement, was he responding to his hips? As a test, John made his hip rolls stronger against Sherlock's.

This time Sherlock did let out a slight moaning sound, John had moved stronger. Oh god yes. Please, John.

So it did work! John increased his rhythm and began to move down slightly (John couldn't reach both Sherlock's groin and mouth, he wasn't that tall). He felt his hips come into contact with Sherlock's raised pelvic bones and gradually, he entered the detective, opening his mouth with pleasure. God, it was tight! He began to thrust with a moderate rhythm.

When John entered him Sherlock let out a moan louder than all those before. It was incredible. It hurt, yes, but it was also a big pleasure, it was a mix of both and that was exciting. When John found a rhythm it was like he was pushing him to heaven. He could feel how he himself got harder too and felt the impulse to touch himself.

Sherlock's member began to become stiff, and pressed against John's stomach as he rolled his hips. At the start, John found it hard to get a rhythm started, as they didn't have any lube, but as his manhood was getting stimulated, it created its own. Sherlock's moan was like audial viagra. He had achieved his goal, and had made Sherlock moan with considerable volume. He increased his tempo, Sherlock's member began to slap him die to his speed. Something would had to be done about Sherlock's problem, or else it wouldn't be fair. He had to have release.

He loved to feel John inside of him, dear lord yes he did! There definitely were nerves that he stimulated, but he was getting really hard and he needed to be released.

John would've touched Sherlock, but he couldn't simultaneously keep up his rhythm and stroke. The detective spiked have to do it himself, there was no other way. A buildup of pleasure had began to grow in John's member, and signified the approach to ejacaculation. He started to pant.

He hadn't wanted to do it, as he had found it embarrassing, but the excitement had become too much now and so Sherlock started to stroke himself. He didn't even have experience with that, but it felt so good that he continued and got faster. This in combination with John's movements brought him high as heaven. He didn't hold himself back anymore and his moans were almost screams as he could feel that he was close to the release.

Pleasure bubbled up in him, like a volcano about to erupt. All of his senses were heightened, he could feel every bead of sweat on his skin, every spring of the mattress moving, Sherlock's moans were deafening in his ear. His heart pounded viciously in his chest, as if it were about to burst out, and it felt like it too. He could've looked at it from a medical view, as sexual stimulation did provoke a higher heart rate, but in the moment, John couldn't give two shits about that. He was in the final stretch, Sherlock had began to relieve himself with his hands, and John's stomach was in the firing range, not that he minded. John increased his tempo as his primitive urge overtook him. It demanded more, faster, faster faster! He was on the cusp, his moans descended into desperate, loud grunts.

Sherlock was moaning John's name as he went faster, it was... incredible! And he went faster too with his hands. He wanted more of this touches, as soon and much as possible, he wanted to be released!

All of the hairs on John's body rose simultaneously as he felt the unimaginable pleasure course through him and the eruption from his member. His release was almost paralysing in the amazing burst of gusto brought on by the discharge of his seed. A loud, strangled moan escaped his lips and he froze, gripping the sides of Sherlock's torso firmly. It was like an explosion! Endorphins raced through his brain and in that moment, John felt that he could do anything, whatever, whenever. He felt that he could bring Moriarty down beneath his feet, make everything and everyone who troubled Sherlock vanish. He had forgotten just how empowering this feeling was! His heart soared with freedom at the thought of how wonderful life was, how wonderful Sherlock was. The pleasure was throbbing still, but weaker and weaker each time, like ripples on water. John let out his held breath, panting a little from the work and overload of pleasure he was just experienced. Sherlock wasn't at the point of release yet, so John continued to hit his g-spot, as uncomfortable as it was, in order for him to receive his pleasure also. But what if.... What if John were to, per say, help him...? No, although John was being swarmed by thick pleasure, a small slither of his sensible brain was still active, the part that knew how embarrassed Sherlock could get. He probably wasn't ready for that level of intimacy yet, which is odd due to the fact that they had just fucked each other, but.... John remained hesitant, and instead stuck to what he knew Sherlock was comfortable with: the gyration of his hips.

Sherlock felt John's release inside of him and shut his eyes as the doctor continued to ride him. He was nearing completion, and it sent nervous excitement running through his veins. This fuelled his approaching orgasm, his heart was thundering in his ears. It was fucking amazing!

"Quicker!" He gasped, grasping the bed sheets beneath him.

John obeyed and increased his speed, which caused the bed springs to groan and creak. Sherlock didn't care, he was on the final stretch. As he felt it reach its climax, he panted heavily, before feeling himself topple into pleasure, a strangled moan escaped his open mouth. His member erupted onto John's stomach, spreading white seed across his tan skin. His eyes widened, it was like nothing he had ever felt before! Never had he experienced such physical enjoyment, yes he had felt it mentally, but that was nothing compared to the waves crashing over him!

John felt the hot liquid strike his chest and he slowed down his pace, to avoid Sherlock becoming oversensitive. He still moved, to ensure Sherlock got the most of this experience, and leant down to kiss Sherlock's stomach tenderly.

"Love you." He panted.

What was once a fire of pleasure, was now a small flickering flame, a wisp or ember of what it once was for Sherlock, but.... That experience... It was out of this world! He saw the white spray across John's chest and felt a pang of guilt, the first sign that his logical mind was returning to claim its primitive home. He felt the hot breath of John on his stomach, and the change in air waves as he spoke.

"I love you too, you amazing man."

John chuckled breathily and stopped his hips before easily pulling out of Sherlock... Thank god for the tissues on the side table! He bent over and took a few out, some for him and Sherlock, no doubt the detective would want to be clean.

Sherlock saw John take some tissues out of the box, and the pang of guilt manifested itself. Why had he done that? It was all over John now! Embarrassment came crashing down on him and suddenly he felt uncomfortable. He craned his neck to watch John lean over.

"John.... I'm... Sorry about that..." He mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

John raised his eyebrows and turned his head to smile at Sherlock encouragingly. This man could never cease to surprise him.

"Sherlock, it's fine! It's fine you daftie!" He giggled, leaning down to kiss Sherlock's forehead before wiping himself clean.

"There, see? Gone."

Yes, yes it was gone. But still Sherlock felt dirty in a way. Not that he minded dirt, he had gone threw way worse sceneries when he had been an addict but... well, this was different. It was human dirt. Still he couldn't help but smile. The way John tried to make him feel better, make him feel safe and comfortable was adorable. 

When he moved again he also felt the dirt again. No, he wasn't oversensitive with regard to naked skin, he slept without his clothes most of the time and he also enjoyed John's soft skin but... now it was just... dirty. It was sweaty and sticky and not nice at all. He tried to find a more comfortable position and moved awkwardly.

 

 


	22. After intercourse

"Sherlock, do you want to go and take a shower?" John asked as Sherlock shifted and squirmed.

“And you don't mind?“, Sherlock asked in worry; he didn't want to leave John alone, didn't want to ruin the mood.

"Nah, it's fine, I'll hop in after you." John said brightly, giving Sherlock a final kiss on the lips before rolling onto the other side of the bed and sliding underneath the sheets.

“You're amazing, John“, Sherlock smiled before he got up. It was only then that he realized that his legs were trembling. Must have been from all the excitement that John had sent through his body. It weren't only his legs, his whole body was in this state.

John grinned at Sherlock as he walked shakily into the bathroom before sinking into the bed with a sigh. What a roller coaster of a day... He didn't know what to feel, it was like all of his emotions were crammed into his head, happiness, sadness, fear, calmness, all at the same time. Where were they going to go now? John's chest caved in slightly from fear, and the unknown tomorrow that they faced. The feeling that he could do anything was being crumbled by the overpowering sense of helplessness. No... Now was not the time for such thoughts, he was here, now, with Sherlock, loving him like he always would. He shoved the thought to the back of his head and got up to collect his pants and shirt, the heating in the room wasn't too good, and the body temperature he had built up was beginning to stabilise, meaning he was getting cold.

The sudden hissing of the shower told John that Sherlock was in, washing himself clean by his standards. It was understandable, it was his first time after all, John would've been surprised if he hadn't been overwhelmed.

Once he had closed the door Sherlock took a deep breath. Wow. Just - wow. This had been amazing! And it still was! It felt like something that had blocked areas of his brain was now gone and it felt fresh and new and... relieved. What had he been waiting for for so long? But Sherlock knew the answer. It was John. He had waited for John. For the love and trust that only he was capable of. He wouldn't have wanted to go through this experience with anybody else. Sherlock stepped into the shower. It somehow was a shame to wash away the proof of their love. But well, it needed to be done. This wasn't nice. He wouldn't be able to enjoy the rest of the night if he didn't shower now. So he turned on the water and let it run over his body that still reacted sensitively. 'Thank you, John', Sherlock could only think, 'I love you.'

Lying on the bed made John realise how knackered he was, even more so after the workout he had just experienced. It was all piling on him, and the mattress was so inviting... But what if Sherlock wanted to continue with what they were doing? He couldn't disappoint Sherlock, especially when it was the first time he had properly opened up. His eyelids grew heavy along with his limbs. No! He blinked hard, and stood up off the bed.

The shower was still going... His mind became fuzzy with exhaustion. It was screaming at him to sleep, regain energy, but his stubborn streak was determined to stay awake for Sherlock. If he had a cold shower after him, that might work in waking him up a bit, it was his best shot and it had succeeded in the army on countless nights. A yawn forced its way out of his mouth, but he clamped down his jaws. No. He would not!

When Sherlock had finished his shower he took his boxers and put them back on. Being close to John, falling asleep in his arms would be great, but only with this limitation. He didn't know how he should tell him that he'd prefer it if he did the same. He opened the door again and found John still laying on the bed (hell, had he always been so handsome or was it because they belonged together now?).

"Are you alright? You look so tired..."

"Mmm?" John mumbled, wiping his eyes sluggishly, "Yeah I suppose I'm tired. Actually, scratch that, I'm fucking knackered." He looked up at Sherlock and nearly did a double take. The water on his abs shone on the slopes and droplets fell from his hair. He truly looked like something out of a dream, John's dream to be more exact. The boxers also... Damn!

Sherlock blushed as he saw the way John looked at him and ran his hand through his hair. Nobody had ever looked at him with such eyes. He walked back to the bed and sat on it, looking down on John. "We should sleep then..."

John frowned, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning. "But I need a shower...." He tried to pull himself off of the bed slightly, but it seemed to pull him even harder back, like it had its own gravitational force, keeping John firmly on the mattress. The duvet was still beneath him, so even if he wanted to get under it, he couldn't. His boy literally felt like stone.

“You know what? Stay here“, Sherlock said and got up again, returned to the bathroom. If getting up was that difficult for John he wouldn't have to. He took a flannel, held it under the water and took just a little bit of soap before he returned and started to wash John whose eyes were closed already.

The damp warmth of the flannel gave John a small jump as he was pulled back from the edge of sleep by its touch, and he cranked one eye slightly open, so that he could see what was going on. Sherlock... John smiled drowsily at him before resting his head back down on to the soft bed, shutting his heavy eyes. The world gradually became muffled, he felt distant from everything, like he was an observer looking in. "Thank you..." He slurred, voice rough from fatigue.

Sherlock enjoyed cleaning John, he could have a look at every centemeter of him again, the wonderful perfection he consisted of! John was such a handsome man... He then went and got a towel. He dried John. Then he climbed into the bed and under the cover himself. Now, what position should they have? Could he just.. go to John and.. well, lay on him in a way? Or... hug him? Or what should he do?

John could faintly feel the soft towel on his stomach, wiping it dry. It brought him back from the edge enough to let him open his eyes slightly. He watched Sherlock walk back into the bathroom, and come back. John hoped that he would somehow get the covers over him, but Sherlock instead got underneath them. He didn't blame Sherlock, he probably forgot that he was lying on top of the sheets. The cool air was uncomfortable on John's skin, he so desperately wanted warmth, but his body worked against him. Slowly, and labourisly, he inched himself up towards the pillows until he could bring up his legs to grab and pull the cover over him. The warmth blanketed him and only aided the invasion of sleep on his mind. It would be safe to say that he had never felt this tired and weighed down before. He turned his head on the pillow to face Sherlock, looking at him through inched open eyes. "Love you..." He mumbled, voice heavy with drowsiness.

Sherlock was really tired by now, the sleep was conquering his mind. But when John said those special words, he could only smile.

"Love you too", he answered and wanted to say so much more, tell him how much he loved him, make some comparisons, but he didn't. He just looked at John's beautiful eyes. He wanted to fall asleep in his arms, lay down his head halfly on John's chest and arm, but he didn't know if he would allow it, or if he would want to be held instead, or if he would simply sleep, or, or, or....

Why wasn't he holding him, orrrrr near him? God he was tired. Sherlock... John flopped his arm slightly as a hint for his detective to wrap his long arms around him. His fingers brushed against the smooth skin of Sherlock's bicep. Maybe... John should, should, should......John should take the initiative and hold Sherlock. If only his body would cooperate. He sank further into the bed.

Sherlock smiled at the cute faces John were making, trying to move but he couldn't. So he just pulled him over and held him in his arms. Sherlock carefully stroked John's wonderful hair and holding him like this... he knew that he belonged to him. That he was his alone. "I'm yours too", Sherlock whispered and placed a soft kiss on John's head. He would fall asleep any moment, if he hadn't already. And Sherlock would soon, too, eventually.

Sherlock's warmth surrounded him and it felt like the only place where John belonged in the world. He felt a wave of comfort wash over him as long, slender fingers ran through his hair. He loved the feeling of Sherlock's soft skin on his. It felt... right. He couldn't keep his eyes open any more, even if he tried.

"I know." John whispered through ragged breaths. And with that, he became engulfed in the tranquil sea of sleep.

Sherlock watched John fall asleep and watched him for a moment. He was so perfect. So beautiful. And the way he had been understanding earlier... He couldn't have found anyone better. Sherlock laid his head against John's and closed his eyes as well. He didn't ever want to wake up from this dream.


	23. Pain in the morning

John found himself back in his home,, in the kitchen. It seemed that he was the only one and a thick cloak of silence hung in the air like a cloud, pendulous and heavy. It was so quiet that John could hear his blood thrumming in his veins and the slick sound of his eyelids opening and closing. What was going on? He turned around on the spot to try and get a sense of understanding. A unsettling fear swarmed in his chest. Suddenly, Harry was in front of him, in a slim red dress and a bottle of rosé in her hand. It was what she was wearing when.... when he had first left home. She narrowed her eyes. "Brother." She said, voice cold. She was there, and then she wasn't, John turned around in a state of confusion, until she re appeared behind him. "You abandoned us." She transported again to the far side of the kitchen. He found a gun to be clutched firmly in his grip, with no recollection of ever having one in his jeans. "Betrayed us." She began to speed up, only staying in one place for several seconds, faster and faster until she was a blur. Then, she stopped stone still. Only, it wasn't her. But a man. In a Westwood suit. With dead brown eyes. And a manic smile. "Johnny boy!" Moriarty sang, "I'm back!" John's breathing turned into ragged panting as he desperately tried to keep his eye on Moriarty, who shot from one place to the next with the same speed 'Harry' had. He whipped round and round, the world nothing but a blur. Something clattered behind him near the sink and he whipped around, the fear manifesting into pure, unadulterated terror. Before he could register what was happening, his finger squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet ripping through the air, and into the chest of Moriarty. But it wasn't the Irishman. Staring at him with shock, blue eyes wide and full of hurt, was Sherlock. "No..." John breathed, watching as Sherlock toppled to the ground, a crimson stain spreading across his shirt. "No no no no no!" What had he done? WHAT HAD HE DONE? John tossed away the gun and threw himself next to Sherlock, desperately trying to assess the wound, definitely through the heart. Tears welled up in his eyes as he shakily grabbed a limp wrist, searching for a pulse. Nothing. "Sherlock, Sherlock please, please!" He repeated hoarsely. There was no reply, and the eyes full of shock were now glassy, and stared up at nothing. Sobs began to rack John's body, and shake his ribs. He stared at Sherlock's body, cold and lifeless. Something was... moving? On Sherlock's chest. The plains of material were being manipulated by something underneath. The bubbling grew quicker, more chaotic. It rose from Sherlock's chest until the shirt couldn't take it anymore, and a thousand black hands burst from the seams, grabbing and clawing at John. He tried to pull away, but they pulled harder, dragging him into Sherlock's chest, or the massive hole that it now was. He didn't want to die! John didn't want to die! No! The hands were stronger than his feeble attempts to break free of their grip, and he was rapidly being dragged into the hole. He gave out one final scream as he was finally yanked into the black abyss. John awoke with a start, panting heavily and eyes darting around the room.

Sherlock slept tight and well and it was only when he felt John being ripped from his arms that he woke up. "John?", he opened his eyes immediately, ready to fight if there was someone attacking them.

"You died! You died! You died! I- I shot you and you died!" He frantically repeated, his voice hoarse with terror.

"What?" John's fear had him wide awake now and Sherlock sat up, too. "You didn't. I'm here... I'm here, John", Sherlock put an arm around him, hoping that it was the right thing to do. That it wouldn't make John's state even worse.

John didn't relax in Sherlock's grip, but it was comforting. His breaths came in ragged bouts of panting as he tried to calm himself down, but to no prevail. He shook his head. "No! I shot you, but I was aiming for.... I killed you!"

"Hey, look at me. John, Look at me. It was a dream. I'm here. I'm alive."

John looked into Sherlock's eyes, his wide pupils darting back and forth to make sure that he was indeed real. And not his mind playing tricks. Sherlock's hands mounded around John's face, the feel and the warmth that radiated from them... They had to be real. His chest felt light, as if his lungs had disappeared, but his heart had leapt up into his mouth, throbbing frantically. A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. He collapsed into Sherlock's arms, chest caving in as his gave into the sobs forcing their way up his throat. He didn't let himself cry. "Don't leave me... Don't leave me..." John whispered, voice wavering.

Sherlock was helpless. He had never experienced anything like this before... Well, John had broken down earlier.. yes of course! Long term consequences of a drug. They had caused a nightmare for John. One that was frightingly real. "I'm not ever leaving you, John. I'll stay with you forever", Sherlock said and held him, he carefully ran his hand over his arm, tried to calm him with his touches. "I'm here, can you feel this? I'm carressing you. I'm here. I'm with you John and I will always be. I love you."

John clutched onto Sherlock for dear life, in fear of him slipping away. He'll stay forever.... He'll stay forever.... Will he? "Promise?"

Sherlock was really frightened by the way John was reacting. It hurt him too to see him like that. "Yes John. I will always be there. No matter what we go through. I won't let you down. I will defeat death for you." He then thought it could be right to tell him something else. "Actually... I already have."

"What?" John asked quietly.

"When I was shot... when Magnussen shot me while we were chasing after him... I would have died. But I fought myself back because I knew you were in danger."

"I was the reason you came back? H-how?"

"I thought I didn't have a chance... that I couldn't survive... but then I remembered that Magnussen was still out there and you were in danger. And I just couldn't let him hurt you. So I continued to fight. I was dead... but I fought myself back. For you."

John increased his grip around Sherlock. His pulse had began to slow down now, and his rational mind was coming back. The nightmare.. it could've been down to the drugs leaving his system... John had had patients with similar symptoms when he had taken them off their prescriptions, it could be the same effect? He hoped it was anyway, that it wasn't going to become a regular occurrence in his life. "Damn it Sherlock why do you have to be so heartbreaking?" John asked jokily as he took in a deep sniffle through his nose. He pressed the side of his face against Sherlock's neck.

"I... I'm sorry?", Sherlock tried to apologize. He had just wanted to help. But no matter what he had said wrongly, he didn't let John go just one bit. He held him just as close as before. He would always be there for him and protect him.

Always.

"It's ok."

Sherlock would keep holding John until he would make a move to go to a different position or leave the hug.

John pressed Sherlock back onto the bed, along with himself still in the detective's embrace. He was scared to go back to sleep, in case his nightmare came back to haunt him. From the corner of his eye he looked at the time on the digital clock. 4.... in the afternoon. God their body clocks were going to be out of whack, John was sure they would end up nocturnal. Sherlock's arm acted as a pillow, but John didn't apply all of his weight to it, in case it hurt him, so his head remained lifted slightly, which was very uncomfortable on his neck.

"You can lay on it completely", Sherlock said; he wouldn't mind anything that John would do. He just should be alright.

John turned his body so that the side of his face was against the warm skin of Sherlock's arm and put his full weight on. He was still paranoid that it was going to hurt him. His eyes fluttered over to the scar on Sherlock's chest from where he was shot by the late Magnussen, the tissue rippled and shone a slight silver from where John was lying. It was beautiful, in a twisted way. He wanted to run his fingertips over it, but he wasn't sure whether Sherlock would be ok with it, he knew personally that he felt uncomfortable whenever his ex-girlfriends had noticed it when he had been getting undressed. Instead, he draped his arm over Sherlock's torso and tucked his hand underneath, between Sherlock and the mattress.

Of course Sherlock had noticed that John had wanted to touch his scar and he would have said something about it if his eyes had rested on it for longer. He knew that John was uncomfortable with Sherlock kissing his shoulder. Was he supposed to feel the same way about the scar? John's hand was a bit cold, but still he stayed silent. It was a miracle to lay next to him, in such a position anyway. "You're safe, I promise", Sherlock whispered and placed a kiss on John's head again.

Was he? John was uncertain about Sherlock's promise, but he knew that he meant well in his words, and tried to believe them. He lifted his head into the kiss and returned it on Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock couldn't help but smiled because of John's kiss.

That smile.... John could never get bored of it, it was like a map, and he loved it, when it showed itself.

He watched John now. He was more beautiful than any other person Sherlock had ever seen.

"I don't want to go back to sleep." John said quietly after a while, when he began to feel the slight start of drowsiness.

"But you look tired..."

"I am.." he said, "But I don't want to shoot you again." He whispered.

"So you're never going to sleep again?"

"If that's what I need to do, then yes."

"I'll stay awake with you. But this is only for tonight, John. Tomorrow the drug will have left your body completely."

"I hope it's down to the drug... and not my ptsd coming back..." John said, his body going numb at the suggestion.

Sherlock knitted his brows. "Why should it be coming back?"

John fell silent.... It hadn't exactly been a smooth time for him. He had killed Moriarty just to find out that it was an innocent man, they are supposed to be in hiding, he was drugged, they were technically outlaws... It wouldn't be out of the question for his PTSD to be triggered again... He remained quiet, reluctant to tell Sherlock why.

"I'm sorry for asking...", Sherlock said and looked away as he made his deductions, "It was not my place..."

"Of course it was your place, you're my boyfriend... you're supposed to worry about me."

Sherlock looked back at John in surprise. Hearing these words, although he had heard them before, made him incredible happy, despite the context that he had, again, made a mistake. "Then this was correct..."

"You're intentions were, yes."

"Okay. This is not about me. Are you alright?" Sherlock would have felt bad if they would have discussed his bad social knowledge again while this was about John. He knew he wasn't alright. But he didn't know how else to ask.

"It's just the recent events have come down on me all at once. It's probably just my heightened emotions talking at the moment, and before you say anything, no, I am not letting you go off without me and no I am not letting you give yourself in to Moriarty."

"John, you are and have always been my priority. If this is too much for you.. damn, it's all my fault."

This is exactly what John didn't want to happen, Sherlock blaming himself. Couldn't he see? It was Moriarty's obsession, not Sherlock's fault for being the root of it! "This is why I didn't want to elaborate, because you would blame yourself when it is not your fault."

Sherlock took a deep breath. He didn't want to pick a fight. Not with John, not as they were so happy. "We have to stop him once and for all." He had used the we on purpose. They would have to do it together. Not only because John wouldn't let him do it alone, but because he would be lost without him.

Amelia

"I'll shoot /him/ this time." John said quietly, his tone defying the swarming feeling of hatred underneath his skin.

Veronika

"I'm not sure that it will be so easy..."

Amelia

"I'll make it easy."

"John, he won't just let you shoot him. He's a criminal mastermind."

"And I'm a vengeful boyfriend with a target of a bullet between that 'criminal mastermind's' eyes."

"We need a plan."

"Plan: Shoot him." John said swiftly.

"Oh, brilliant plan! Because it worked so well the last time, didn't it?!", it came out more harshly than Sherlock had intended. But it had only been because he didn't want John to go through more than he already was.

John tensed up, suddenly feeling the urge to move away from Sherlock. Their intimate embrace turned sour in that split second, this wasn't how Sherlock normally spoke to him. "At least I did something." John said coldly.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means." John said before exiting Sherlock's embrace and standing up. "I'm going for a shower." He added shortly.

"John..." How did this happen again?

John ignored him as he walked stiffly into the bathroom and took of his clothes to get in the shower.

"John!", Sherlock got up and followed him, but looked away as he saw that John had already undressed himself.

John scoffed, not trying to hide himself. "Seriously? You still have to avert your eyes? What do you want Sherlock?"

"I... ", he wanted to say something about his comment, that it wouldn't just go away like that, but he didn't, "I wanted to apologize."

"I don't want you to be angry with me!"

"Do you think I planned to kill that man?" John asked, cocking his head and pursing his lips, "Cause that was certainly what it sounded like you were implying Sherlock."

"That's what bothered you about it?" Okay, he didn't see that coming.

"Yes that's what bloody well bothered me!" John exclaimed, "What else about your remark would?"

"That I wouldn't think you were smart enough to make a proper plan, that you would just run into the action without thinking about it"

"And that's a typical Sherlock answer right there." John said, pointing at Sherlock, "It never occurred to you, even once in this brief time, that it maybe didn't have something to do with being a smart arse?"

"I only want to protect you...", Sherlock formed these words slowly and clearly, but his voice was trembling. He hadn't meant to insult John.

John sighed. "Here's the thing Sherlock, I'm not the only one that needs protecting. It works both ways. I want to protect you too, but it's not one sided." John said, his words softer now that he had heard the tremble in Sherlock's voice, "I'm not completely helpless, as aren't you, but don't make me feel like I am." John said gently, "Please."

"I know you're not helpless, John. You are the bravest man I know. And that's what scares me. I know you are able to fight, but what if something goes wrong? It's not only like you couldn't live without me... it's the same way the other way round...."

"I know it is!" John exclaimed tiredly, before wiping his face with his hand, trying to calm himself down, he was better than this, "I know it is..." He repeated, softer and calmer.

"We have to work together for this, John. We need both our best sides. We need to make a smart plan and be brave fighters."

"I know, I know just.... Let me have a shower first."

"Oh, right..." Sherlock had completely forgotten about it and now that he was remembered on it a slight blush appeared on his face.

John waited for Sherlock to leave, though the detective remained standing in the room. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Oh, I... you want me to.. of course." He turned around and left the room. Why did he always miss these things?

John let out a sigh and slumped his shoulders, looking around the room. This is a blip.... Just a blip in their relationship, it will get better. He stepped into the cubicle, turned on the shower and closed his eyes in relief of the hot water spitting down on him. It relaxed his muscles, which were tight, unbeknown to John. This relaxation lasted for a few minutes, before a sudden knot in his stomach twisted, and sent a wave of nausea flooding over him. His mouth had the sweet taste he usually got just before he vomited. "Oh God!" He mumbled as he flew to the toilet with a hand clasped firmly over his mouth. Luckily, he reached the bowl just as the contents of his stomach lurched forward out of his body and into the u-bend with unflattering splashes. That would be the remaining drugs leaving his system with a vengeance. Good riddance. John wasn't a vocal vomiter, he instead made the muffled gagging sounds as his stomach clenched and emptied itself. One of the things he hated most about being physically sick was the before and after taste, especially the former, it roiled his stomach even more. He was glad, though, to finally be rid of the drugs. It meant no more unexpected surprises. There wasn't much in his stomach, so it only took two or three to fully empty it. He remained hunched over the toilet for a bit, taking in deep breaths to wash out the remaining nausea. John was glad that was over.

Sherlock had laid down on the bed again. How could he possibly be so stupid? Why couldn't he just think? He hurt John badly, he knew that. And although he said it would be fine it probably wouldn't be.

Just as quick as the nausea came, it was gone again, and left John feeling ever so slightly dizzy. He stood up from his hunched position, pressing his hand against the wall. He must've been quiet enough not to disturb Sherlock, which said something. Sherlock was like a bat sometimes. John wiped his lips and took a large sip of water to flush out the taste. He moved it around his mouth before spitting it into the sink. After that, he quickly got dressed back into his clothes, like nothing had happened, and walked back into the room.

“Oh god, John! Please tell me you're okay!“ Sherlock jumped up. The proof was written all over John's face. There were little red points showing that there had been pressure on his face, vomiting. Also he wore that certain look of disgust although he were trying to hide it.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." John grumbled, frowning slightly. His mouth still tasted acidic, which wasn't the best flavour. He found it weird that Sherlock couldn't hear him but as soon as he walked into the room he could deduce that he had been sick. John didn't know why he even tried to hide it, sometimes he forgot he loved a genius. It did come as a relief however when Sherlock so clearly became worried.

Sherlock didn't know what to do in situations like this... about a loved person that was ill... “Lay down...“, he figured and pulled the blanket back so that John could get into the bed in a better way, “Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?“

"No, no, I'm fine Sherlock," John sighed, nevertheless getting into the bed, "I think it was just the last drugs exiting my system."

"Makes sense", Sherlock mumbled and stood next to the bed, unsure if John would want him to get in as well. He was confused. At first John had wanted to be held by him as close as possible and now he was pushing him away. Sherlock didn't know what to do.

"Wait, drugs? Where did that come from?" John asked, frowning and wiping his face, "Why did I think that?"

“What do you mean?“, Sherlock asked, still standing next to the bed and looking at John in worry.

Amelia

"Why did I say it was the drugs? We never thought about the possibility that I was drugged."

“Moriarty drugged you at the restaurant, didn't we talk about that?“

"Yeah, yeah, but that was a while back, those drugs would've left my system by now..."

“Then... what are you thinking about?;

"I don't know.. I... I guess I'm thinking that I was drugged again at some point?"

“But when would that have been? We were together the entire time...“

John shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, you're the genius here."

“A very tired genius who just had a nice distraction by his boyfriend“, Sherlock sighed and let himself sink to the bed again, but he sat a bit away from John.

"It probably wasn't even drugs. But if it wasn't I dread to think what it was. Could it come back again?" John wondered quietly.

"No, no. It was drugs. I know these things... I mean... It can't just come back. You were drugged again."

"But when? I was with you /the entire time/, you would've noticed wouldn't you?"

"Have I been asleep when you weren't some time? Did you eat anything I didn't?" He added silently "Am I just used to the drug...?"

John scrunched his brow in an attempt to remember, but shook his head soon after, "I've been asleep more or less the same time as you, woken up like that as well. As for food.... I can't say I've eaten much recently, nothing except for the odd packet of crisps. And if you were used to the drug, you must've gone through a phase where you /were/ affected by it. Is that possible?"

“Possible, yes. But I would've noticed...“, Sherlock tried to start his mind but he was too tired to think properly. And no, that wasn't caused by a drug, it was pure exhaust.

"Yeah, a great big bloody headache. Anyone would've noticed that..." John wiped his face, "Why am I so lethargic? I had 6 hours sleep, before... well...."

“John, please. This is difficult for me too...“

"I know, I know I'm not blaming you Sherlock, I just want to find out why I suddenly collapsed. It's frightening being in the unknown."

“Okay then. Let's look at this like at a case“, Sherlock said and lifted his hands to take mental notes, “Give me all the facts we have.“

"We went from London to my mother's, stayed the night, woke up mid-day, went downstairs, sat down to talk about our plan and I collapsed." John reeled out the past events tiredly.

Sherlock created a timeline in front of his eyes. He noted the events that John mentioned on it. “Let's see... London was too long ago, that can't be it. When you collapsed it was already too late...“ he deleted those dates and zoomed in on the timeline.

"Mhm." John hummed in agreement.

"Your mother's house then. But how on earth would anything there poison you?"

"Apart from alcohol poisoning from Harry, I can't think of any way else." John said dryly.

"Harry..."

"Hmm?"

"She was the only other person who was with us, and I don't think your mother did it. She stayed inside her room the entire time and didn't have a reason to hurt you."

John scrunched his brow up, shaking his head gently. "No, no, we may have our differences but.... Harry... Harry would never try to poison me?" He said doubtfully.

"Then who else could have done it? Because it was only us four in the house."

"But, she can't have.... I thought... wh...." John stumbled over his words, eyes looking down in thought.

"...the tea..."

"It can't have been in the tea though you had some to-"

"Just a bit..."

"And I had several mouthfuls..." John said quietly, feeling sick all of a sudden.

"Oh John..."

He took in deep breaths as his chest grew heavy. "My, my sister tried to kill me.... She tried to kill me!" He said, voice breaking slightly.

Sherlock moved slightly, insecure if he should hug John or not, and kept his hand in the air, still thinking about it. He didn't know if he'd want to be touched or not.

"I.... I can't believe that sh-she would do that, I'm her brother, I loved her...." he felt his vision grow blurry.

"John..." He went for the hug now. He didn't care if he'd be pushed away. John needed this.

He let Sherlock take him into his arms. The tight embrace was his protection, and he pressed his head onto Sherlock's chest, trying so hard not to cry. Harriet. His sister. The one he had once made a castle for, out of old pieces of wood, day in and day out. She wanted him dead? Did the house really mean that much to her? He clung onto Sherlock's shirt.

"I don't think she wanted to kill you... not exactly kill you... she just wanted you to suffer..."

"I... I only took a couple of mouthfuls and if my headache was the result of that, then the entire cup would've killed me..." John said quietly.

Sherlock didn't know what to say about that. John was right.

"It seems everyone wants to bloody drug me..." he said bitterly.

"I told you... John, I told you that I wanted to keep you out of this... you will only get hurt if you're with me."

"Not what I want to hear right now Sherlock." John said lowly, pressing his head further against Sherlock's shirt.

"S..sorry...", Sherlock said, insecure about what he actually could say.

"I can't be away from you....not now." He murmured.

"I won't go away. I will stay with you..."

"I know..."

Sherlock held him even closer. He wouldn't let John go ever again.

John's mind lingered on Harry, and as hard as he tried to think of anything else, she wouldn't budge, her blonde hair and button nose. She seemed to sneer in his mind. What had happened to his sister?

Sherlock could tell that John was devastated, but he had no idea how to comfort him or what to say. So he just held him close.

John gave Sherlock a gentle kiss on the neck and buried himself closer to him.

His mind was racing but there was no solution, nothing to say that would make it better.

After about half an hour, John moved his head upwards away from the warmth of Sherlock's chest. His head pounded. "I need some water..." he mumbled, moving to get up.

"Right..." Sherlock replied and let John go. He was looking at him and had no idea what to say or what to do. Comforting... he wasn't an expert in comforting...

John shuffled to the drinks tray, his feet scuffling against the carpet as he went. He felt so emotionally drained. Or just drained in general. The cold water hit his chest as he drank, but it felt good. Like a wake up call: get over it and soldier on. Harriet hated him, at least he knew he didn't have to try anymore at family meetings, then again, he would have to be on watch for any more drugs or poisons. A messed up family and a messed up life to match. At least he had Sherlock with him.

Sherlock had followed John and watched him from the door now. If only he could do something... anything to help him. But for once his brilliant mind couldn't figure out how to solve a problem.

"Sherlock I can practically feel your eyes boring into me." John said after a drink, he didn't turn around.

Sherlock looked away and stumbled into the room in a clumsy way, trying to act normal, but amazingly failed. “I'm sorry...“, he managed to stay and held on to a chair.

"It's fine. You're trying." John said tiredly, filling the cup again. He didn't drink anymore, it was probably just something to keep his mind on, the filling of the cup.

Sherlock looked at his back. Trying... Trying wasn't enough...

John sighed, and his hand clenched down on the cup. He didn't break or bend the plastic, but he wanted to. He wanted to just... destroy. Anything. Everything. Let loose for once in his goddamn life. Heaven knew he deserved it.

Sherlock's mind was racing. He was thinking about something to say, anything to say, just anything that would make John feel better... he was useless. It didn't work. He would approach him, hold him, he had seen that in a show that John had watched on tv, but he didn't want to be rejected, didn't want to go close when John had just been in his and got up now, assumingly for some space.

"At least I don't have to buy her anything for Christmas anymore." John said numbly, trying to lighten the situation halfheartedly.

“Well, that's true, I suppose...“, Sherlock replied, just to reply at all. This situation was very difficult for him because for once he had to choose his words carefully. He didn't want to hurt John any further.

 

 


End file.
